A Killing Too Far

by Andrew Wareham

  Sam said nothing, lifted the bags out and opened them.

  “Golden guineas in three. Silver crowns in five larger; half-crowns in the five greatest.”

  “Four hundred and fifty pounds in total, sir.”

  “Where did they come from? Saved each year from his housekeeping funds? Put away in case of a successful rebellion, perhaps? He never struck me as one to fear for the future.”

  “He was not, sir. He informed me during our last meeting that there was a letter to you in one of the bags of half-crowns, they being the largest and taking the sheet without too many folds.”

  Sam searched through the bags, found a single sheet of writing paper once folded.

  ‘Sam,

  You have earned my Respect for your Honesty in your dealings with Me and Mine. You have made Josie a good Husband. In return, I shall be Honest with You. The Monies in these Bags were collected in 1744 from Supporters of the Old King – the True King, I still Believe. They were to be given to the Prince when He marched his Victorious Army South. On his Failure, I kept them to become the Property of my Family.

  There is a Large Sum in the keeping of Banker Martin, from the Identical Source.

  I have kept no Record of the Names of Those who supported the True King.

  I Trust you will use the Monies Well,

  Your Affectionate Father by Marriage,

  Josh Banford

  “Are you aware of the contents of this letter?”

  The attorney had taken pains to turn his back while Sam was reading and now shook his head violently.

  “No, sir. I know nothing at all of the matter, other than that a letter existed. There is no need, sir, to arrange that I should meet with your Nick.”

  Sam was taken aback by this avowal that he was seen as a casual killer, or procurer of murder at least.

  “So be it. What is your fee for today’s services?”

  “Two guineas, sir.”

  Sam handed the man two guineas from his pocket and then another five from the nearest bag.

  “I trust that will be satisfactory, lawyer.”

  “More than satisfactory, sir. Good day to you, sir.”

  Sam was left to wonder just how much was held by Martin, and then to consider just what he should do with the money. He must speak to Josie first, he imagined.

  Chapter Eleven

  A Killing Too Far

  “The house and lands to be renamed, you say, Sam?”

  “That is your father’s wish, Josie. The Thornehill Estate, so he decreed in his Will. I am of the opinion that we should mark the occasion by bringing in the builders. A wing to be added, or two perhaps, one on either side of the existing property, to make the house into a fitting residence for young Samuel to grow to adulthood and a place in the County. Perhaps large enough for his son to aspire even further.”

  Josie immediately caught the reference to a title.

  “Is that possible, Sam?”

  “Not for me. Unlikely for Samuel, though he might be able to pick up a knighthood if he puts enough in the proper hands. Very possible for a grandson who was born hosed and shod, as they say. If we are able to buy in more of good bottom land for farming, so as to give a respectable source of income from wheat fields, then we will belong to the Land, which is the first essential. Additionally, we must set a hundred thousand away into solid investments, and retain the collieries and perhaps an interest in some potteries, and then we could be a leading family in the whole County – putting our money into the proper places to attract the right attention, of course. A thousand a year, at the very least, to go into ‘good causes’ in the County and we will become very well-liked. By the third generation my sins will be forgotten – ‘Old Sam was a bit of a rogue, don’t ye know’ - and the family will be fit to take a place in the wider world. Old money has many virtues, my dear, and I am told that it does not need to be so very ancient. All I hear says there are no more than ten lordly families in this country who might wish to name all of their great-grandparents. Pirates, slavers, out-and-out thieves – all are to be found in almost every family of the blue-blooded, and we shall be no exception.”

  Josie was taken aback – she had thought the word ‘noble’ to have a meaning. She was prepared to be persuaded.

  “Then Thornehill we are, Sam. I wonder whether young Samuel might not be well advised to become Mr Thornehill when he grows up?”

  “And thus to take a step away from me? It might well be wise, my dear. On my death, I suspect. Hopefully not for many years yet, but it would seem suspicious was he to change his name while I was still alive. But, you are certainly right – ‘Mr Thornehill of Thornehills’ has a gentlemanly ring to it.”

  A call at Martins Bank followed. Sam found himself expected, the proprietor aware of Josh Banford’s death.

  “M Banford spoke to me a few months since, Mr Heythorne. He gave me formal, written notice that you were to be his heir and must be given control of his accounts. He has made two separate deposits with the bank, each to come to you, sir.”

  Martin opened a ledger and read off the entries in it.

  “Eight years since, sir, made in the January of the year 1746, a deposit of two thousand and four hundred and sixty pounds and fifteen shillings, made in coin. Placed at interest of two and one eighth per centum, at compound. That amounts to two thousand nine hundred and thirty-one pounds and seven shillings and five pence, sir, at the calculation at the end of last month.”

  Sam did not know how to work compound interest and had no wish to seem foolish by admitting that ignorance. He accepted the figure, implying that he would not so much as consider querying Mr Martin’s figures.

  “Please to make that over to my name, Mr Martin, in its own account. It will pay for the building work to take place at Thornehill Hall, as Mr Banford requested that his old house should now be known. Mr Banford had another account, did he not?”

  “He did, Mr Heythorne. The second deposit was more in the nature of a trading accommodation, an investment, you might say. Whenever Mr Banford found himself with spare cash, money to save, one might say, he placed it into the trading fund. For a small fee, I have used the trading account to make speculations in local commerce. To explain the business, Mr Heythorne, it is by way of making short-term loans at high interest to risks I would not normally entertain as a banker, not using my own funds. Typically, this involved offering credit to potteries. A master with a large order might find himself short of cash to buy coals and pay his wages until the settlement for the delivery comes in. It might be a matter of five or six months between the first costs and the final payment, and that gap must needs be bridged.”

  “A short-term loan… at, one presumes a high rate of interest?”

  “Thirty per centum not uncommon, Mr Heythorne. Typically, about five hundred pounds for some six months, returning seventy-five in premium.”

  Sam was deeply approving – three hundred on the thousand in the space of a year seemed a fine way to do business.

  “Can we continue to operate the trading account, Mr Martin?”

  “That is possible, Mr Heythorne. The account has some four thousand pounds in cash at the moment, and the better part of eight thousand at loan. We are coming up towards harvest, and there will be money flooding into the farmers’ pockets then and all loans will be paid off as they clear their own debts with their suppliers and the money rolls over into the potteries. I would expect there to be almost nothing loaned out in the months of September and October, but by January we shall have almost twelve thousand out at risk.”

  Sam nodded; it made sense for the demand for bank loans to fluctuate with the harvest.

  “How great is the risk, Mr Martin?”

  “It is never negligible, Mr Heythorne. But borrowers will place repayments to you high on their list of priorities. Mr Banford experienced no defaults at all in his later years, after he became known as your goodfather.”

  Sam did not ask why that might be.

  He
debated adding some of his own money to the trading fund, but it did carry a risk and it was wiser not to put too much of his capital in any one place. Always better to spread his investments so that one failure could not bring his whole prosperity to an end.

  It was a highly satisfactory meeting, Sam thought. He wished there might be more of the same to come. He was due for his weekly conversation with Abe in the afternoon.

  Abe was inclined towards reminiscence, rather to Sam’s irritation – he had better things to do than listen to tales of the old days when Abe had been young and the world had been a finer place.

  “I remember as if it were yesterday, Sam, working with Josh Banford to secure our freeholds, him for the first few acres and his house, me for the land on which the White Horse sits. It was all owned by a fellow called Whiteacre, queer old name. Some sort of foreigner his father had been and made his name into English. He was a Jacobite, more fool him, and put his signature down on a paper we sent him just before the ‘15, when the Papists were talking loud in the North Country and making a fuss of their king to come back. The paper was said to be of local worthies showing their support for the Old Pretender. We then said the document had miscarried and had fallen into the hands of the Sheriff of the County and told Whiteacre his name had become known and the authorities were on their way to visit him, noose in hand. He would be a felon, we told him, his land escheated to the Crown. The only way to avoid that was to have no land, of course – he listened to us and galloped with us to his attorney and conveyed his holdings to us in exchange for a silver shilling each. We told him that we would undo the process at the same price as soon as it was safe – and the damned fool believed us, Sam.”

  Sam laughed aloud, unable to comprehend a man so stupid.

  “You told him to whistle when he came to you, hand outstretched to take his acres back, I presume, Uncle Abe?”

  Abe joined his laughter, said they had been cleverer than that.

  “Josh Banford permitted him to lease the house back immediately he sold it. All at a token rental, all formally recorded in front of the attorney, so that we were all covered by obviously legal transactions. He was delighted with our generosity and kindness to him. With him legally established as tenant, we called upon the Sheriff, actually doing so this time, and told him of a cache of firelocks and powder and ball and short swords, all to be given out in support of a rebellion in favour of the Stewarts. The Sheriff found the arms in the barn at the house, where we had hidden them, and then discovered Whiteacre’s name at the top of the list, also there, of rebels who had been planning the coming uprising in Derbyshire and Staffordshire and who had bought the weapons. They took him and saw him hanged within two days. His family was put out on the road, of course, shunned by the virtuous of the County. Josh and I were in very good odour, having been offered commissions as junior officers by the rebels, so it was said, and having been outraged by the very thought.”

  It all sounded very entertaining and Sam was amused to hear of it, wondered why Uncle Abe should have brought it up just then.

  “Thing is, Sam, I came across the name of Whiteacre just a few days ago. A young sort of fellow just passing through, or so he said, taking a room for two nights. He was quite interested in the neighbourhood, his family having lived here on a distant day. He said he had heard that a Mr Banford had recently passed away. I would imagine him to be a grandson of the original traitor. He would not be a happy young man if he knew the round tale!”

  Sam could not but help wonder whether he did. He thought he might be wise to make enquiries in the area, just to discover whether this Whiteacre might have been asking about among the local people. There was small chance of a feud passing down through the generations – that sort of thing did not happen, but the young man might shout his mouth off if he knew that his grandfather had been badly treated. More likely that it was no more than idle curiosity, but there would be no harm in discovering exactly who he was.

  “What of the Runners, Uncle Abe?”

  “Nothing, Sam. The one man has gone away again and there is nothing to worry about there. Alfred Cocks is in Derby for me just now and will probably tell me what is going on within a week or two. I think we have small grounds for concern, Sam.”

  “I shall pay Rowlands a visit, I think, just in case he has heard more from Derby. I might discover as well whether young Richard is to wed his farmer’s daughter – Old Rowlands might feel that was to lower the family in the world, an alliance with a small yeoman, which is all the man can be.”

  “A younger son? Does it matter where he weds, Sam?”

  “Probably not, Uncle Abe, but it might be interesting to know what Rowlands thinks, even so. I have some commitment to the young fellow, so I should at least show interested.”

  Abe could not see exactly why, broke off the conversation in a harsh coughing fit.

  “Tickle in the throat, Sam. Can’t seem to clear it. Old age creeping up on me, I suspect – I shall not see sixty-five again, you know.”

  “Anno domini, Uncle Abe! The years pass by, do they not?”

  “You do not notice time passing by at your age, Sam, but the grey hairs creep up on you almost unnoticed, until the day comes that you stare in amaze in your mirror. Still, I shall be visiting my other house tonight, Sam – life in the old dog yet!”

  Abe made a vulgar gesture with his right arm, fist clenched and elbow bent, and Sam left laughing, pleased that the old fellow was still vigorous, wishing him a happy evening.

  “Mr Rowlands, how are you, sir?”

  “Well indeed, Mr Heythorne. Enjoying my new life as a man of leisure. My reformed son has taken the burdens off my shoulders, much to my pleasure, and I need no longer rise with the dawn and ride my acres, rain or shine. He has those pleasures now and does seem to be enjoying them.”

  Sam was amused to hear that the young gentleman had been so thoroughly frightened that he was continuing to tread the paths of virtue. One day, not immediately but when the fuss had died down, he must ask Nick exactly what he had done to and for young Rowlands.

  “My son is considering going out in search of a wife, he tells me. It is time to put down roots, I gather. We are making a list of eligible females in the neighbourhood.”

  Sam was entertained, wondered what criteria made a girl ‘eligible’ in their eyes.

  “Birth, of course, Mr Heythorne, is the first factor to consider. She must be the daughter of a Landed family in the County. Less than that would be a step down from our station.”

  The Rowlands were only marginally members of the County, Sam knew. An unwise marriage for the heir might well see their status suffer an instant decline.

  “Except, of course, that the daughter of one of the larger potteries might carry respectability in her pocket, Mr Rowlands.”

  Rowlands laughed and admitted that a substantial dowry might well outweigh a young lady’s breeding.

  “But, Mr Heythorne, substantial it would have to be – five thousands in gold might be seen as an argument in the maiden’s favour, but certainly not less.”

  Sam joined Rowland’s laughter, not saying that in his opinion a father with five thousands to hand would probably look higher in the local gentry than the position the Rowlands occupied.

  “To be serious, Mr Heythorne, George is to look for a younger daughter of a land-owning family. Her portion might be no more than a hundred or two, possibly nothing at all, so long as she is related within reason close to a title. A girl whose uncle was a lord would be very attractive to us.”

  “Children who could call second cousin to my lord might well be able to mix with a higher level of Society, Mr Rowlands. I shall bear that in mind when young Samuel thinks to go a-courting.”

  “Most wise, Mr Heythorne. You are aware that Richard is to settle with the daughter of farmer Palethorpe? The eldest girl of four – handsome enough, or so he thinks, but nothing else to recommend her. She has her letters, at least, and can keep household and is a virtuous enough
female, but there is nothing else to give a claim to gentility. It sets Richard firmly among the yeomanry, I fear, but he is convinced he will make a fortune from coal and will step up in the world on the shoulders of his own endeavours. He believes that he will be able to put away a hundred or two a year from the profits of the Palethorpe pit and then seek a working of his own in the hills nearby. Twenty years, he says, will put ten thousand pounds in his pocket. Once he has that sum to hand, then he says he can speculate and rise more rapidly. Ten more years will see him worth a hundred thousand, so he calculates.”

  Sam was amazed – he had written the boy off as a failure, a youngster who lacked the strength of will to make himself into a man.

  “He is right, Mr Rowlands. Once he has made his initial capital, then he can become rich. I am surprised though that he has the strength of mind to plan for the long future. I wish him well – will look forward to his great success. He may well outstrip us both, sir – good luck to him!”

  Sam did not actually believe his own words. Mr Richard Rowlands might have the best of intents, but he doubted that he had the character to turn a sound plan into an actual achievement. On the other hand, he was to take a wife, who might be the source of his new ambitions… It was possible that the young man might be given an injection of enterprise, in which case Sam would wish to take his share of any profits that might be available.

  “I presume that Mr Richard Rowlands is to be found at the Palethorpe farm, busy with the work to open up the pit there?”

  “He rides out every morning before seven, Mr Heythorne.”

  “Remarkable – a very definite devotion to his duty. I shall proceed that far myself in the morning. You might wish to tell him to expect me, Mr Rowlands?”

  The new pit was starting as open-cast, digging into a shallow hillside where a thick seam of coal surfaced. Richard Rowlands was happy to show Sam the first fruits of his endeavours.