“Why, Captain Latham has seen to that already, Mr Ludlow. Your fellow Pender has got his feet under the kitchen table like an old friend, and no mistake.” Her grin was replaced by a mock frown. “Mind, if he interferes much more with the maids doing their work, I’ll sling him out in the street.”
This threat was followed by another smile. It was plain that Pender had made an impression on her. But that was as nothing to the delight she took in using Latham’s name. Her eyes glowed at the mere mention of him, and he was heaped with no end of praise for being “a true gent.” He was undeniably handsome, with a slim figure encased in a tight red uniform, a ready, heartwarming smile, unmarked olive skin, and large, soft brown eyes. The slightly hooked nose hinted at mixed blood, as well as providing a hint of steel in an otherwise gentle face. If Harry had harboured any doubts as to a lowly captain’s ability to maintain a room at the Three Kings, they were laid to rest. As long as Cath Hogbin had a say, and she was obviously cut from a similar mould to her father, no elevated person, not even a prince of the blood royal, would dislodge her “true gent.”
That was not an appellation that Harry was inclined to argue with. Latham had been the soul of kindness. Sitting down to a substantial breakfast, he informed them that Mrs Franks was asleep in his bed, with the good major beside her. A physician had been called, had bled her, then pronounced confidently that she needed no more than a decent rest. Her dress, alas, was beyond redemption, but Latham had sent for something she could travel in.
Harry and James, with the odd bitter aside from Wentworth, outlined what had happened in the last 24 hours, a tale which produced no shock in Latham’s face. Yet the words that followed contained a degree of genuine feeling.
“Why, they’re all villains in these parts, Captain Ludlow! There’s hardly a man on the coast of Kent who isn’t smuggling. I had one of my own men shot dead in Beach Street, not a month ago, while guarding a load of seized contraband.”
He paused, as if embarrassed to express so much emotion, then smiled, showing a good set of white teeth. “Not that I’m a puritan in such matters, you understand. I like untaxed brandy as much as the next man. But the degree of lawlessness that attends their activities, not to mention their rivalries and disputes, is alarming. There’s no end of murder and rioting in the streets. The Preventative Officers go in constant fear of their lives. And they don’t confine themselves to stealing from the revenue, either.”
“Am I to understand you too have suffered, Captain Latham?” asked James, who knew only too well the reputation of the Deal smugglers. He had been at Cheyne Court in the early ’80s, when they’d beaten back the army, sent to curb their activities, and burned down the Customs House to underline the strength of their feeling.
The younger man brushed a crumb off the sleeve of his red tunic. “I have, sir, though I hasten to add the loss is not personal. If you take a walk in the direction of Walmer Castle you will observe a new set of buildings being erected. They are barracks, sir, which will in time house enough troops to police this entire coast.”
“Then they must be substantial,” said Harry, “and costly. Does the loss to the revenue justify the expense?”
“That is not their true purpose, Captain Ludlow, at least in wartime. You, being from these parts, and a sailor, must know how much Deal has expanded. We find we are embarking an increasing number of troops from here to destinations all over the globe. We require proper barracks to house them. The locals resent being forced to billet them. Yet if they are accommodated in tents they have all the diseases rampant before they ever get aboard ship. As I say, that is in wartime.”
It was hard for such an open, honest fellow as Latham to look cruel and heartless. But he managed it, as he went on to outline what would happen in peacetime.
“Billy Pitt, as you may be aware, has the Cinque Ports sinecure. He dines at this very inn when he visits. I’ve had it from his own lips that the barracks will be fully occupied, peace or war, with the troops put to protective duties so that the revenue officers can do their work.”
“They have tried troops before,” said Harry, dismissively. “The locals fought them to a standstill. Pitt even tried burning all the boats on the beach in ’84. All he managed was a bonanza for the boatbuilders.”
Wentworth, who’d been eating steadily, finally raised his head from his dish and spoke. “One wonders whether the entire country would not benefit from the creation of a body of men charged and paid to do proper policing.”
“My God, sir,” said Latham, his brown eyes popping slightly. “A gendarmerie! What a perfectly tyrannical notion.”
“The use of the army, generally scum from the gaols, can hardly be said to be better,” added Wentworth tactlessly.
James could see that Latham was struggling to stay polite and he cut in. “You alluded to loss, sir, but did not go on to explain.”
“Ah yes,” said the young captain, brought back to the root of his subject. “Bricks and mortar, sir.”
They all looked confused at this, exchanging curious glances.
“You can’t construct a barracks without bricks and mortar. Just as you can’t stop them being stolen, no matter how well you set your pickets. If you wander around Deal, sir, you will observe a great deal of building taking place, mostly of private houses. It is my honest contention that most of the materials are stolen from the barracks site.”
Latham leant forward, lowering his voice. “I could understand if the locals didn’t take to the barracks, as it’s likely to interfere with their nefarious trade. But it ain’t that. It’s just plain villainy. Most of them, under the guise of being honest traders, have joined the local Fencibles to defend the coast against the French. You can see them on a Sunday, all puffed up in their uniforms. They parade about, fire off a useless fusillade, then retire to the Hamburgh Ensign to toast their bravery. Yet the same fellows finance the trade, or at the very least turn a blind eye. There is not a man amongst them who isn’t building something, and as to my bricks … I lose little when the sea is calm and the ‘Honest Thieves’ are busy, but let there be a storm, with those smuggling coves tied up to the shore, and my bricks and mortar disappear by the ton. They’re not ‘Honest Thieves’ then. They are true miscreants, sir, for if they will not steal one thing, they’ll purloin another. The naval yard is another favoured target.”
“Then you will have frequent dealing with a magistrate,” said James.
Latham frowned. “Frequent is barely the word, sir. I call upon the mayor daily if the wind is foul. And it is quite useless.”
“Why so?”
“Mr Temple is in the process of building a new house himself. I have heard him complain loudly that the excise tax on bricks is ruining him. But that is all so much stuff to blind me. Since no one who ever steals from the barracks is brought to book, I cannot help but feel that the materials he himself is using are suspect. Surely, even in the dark of night, it cannot be hard to apprehend a man with a cartload of bricks and lime, especially running along these newly paved roads they’re so proud of. Surely not even the well-practised folk of this town can turn their famous blind eye to that. Yet they do. I have come to believe, in my six months here, that the whole parish is implicated in this villainy.”
There was no innate kindness in Latham’s look now, rather a glint that would gladly see a man broken at the wheel. And his voice had a harsh tone, so unlike his normal kindly manner. “I tell you, gentlemen, you may search the town of Deal for an honest man till your face turns blue, for you will do so in vain.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ON THEIR WAY to Temple’s chambers they observed the building taking place. New houses were springing up everywhere along Beach Street, crammed into the tight spaces that had previously served as boatyards. There was also some evidence of a burgeoning civic pride, with the streets new-paved with Yorkshire stone. They passed the Customs House, gutted by the riotous mob and still a shell after all these years. The gaping windows and forlorn look
caused James to speculate on the seeming absence in Deal of any Preventative Officers. Normally they had at least one member of the excise set as a tidewatcher on the public quays to intercept and examine incoming ships.
“They were shifted to Sandown Castle, I believe,” said Harry. “Which tells you all you need to know about how they are perceived.”
“It’s certainly a damp piece of accommodation, unless they’ve rebuilt the moat.”
The castle, one of three built by Henry VIII to protect the coast, had succumbed to erosion. The sea now beat against the stone walls, undermining them; in time the whole edifice would slip into the sea.
“I think not. It has the virtue of being the furthest from the public quays. It makes for a long walk and a lonely vigil, which is hardly an inducement to zeal.”
James frowned. “They must mount a telescope on the battlements, Harry. Could they have observed our predicament?”
“Having a telescope is one thing, brother, manning it quite another. We’d stand more chance with the Deal pilots. They’re always on the lookout for a fee. But being to seaward of the Goodwins would make us hard to spot from the shore.”
James, seemingly restored to his dilatory ways, stopped to look at a corner house in the middle stages of construction; the builder was adding false window spaces to the side elevation, arched follies which were already bricked up, to give it the appearance of an older dwelling which had been subject to (and sought to avoid) payment of the window tax. “See, Harry, there is no honesty anywhere. Even the simplest affair, regardless of the source of materials, is corrupt. The good captain was right, though I will admit that Latham, when lambasting Kent as a place awash with villainy, only alluded to the coastal strip. I’m glad he didn’t refer to Cheyne, or Chillenden parish. If he had I would have found myself called upon to defend them.”
Harry had walked on and now turned impatiently to hurry James along. His mind, not much taken with builders and their wiles, had turned to the man who’d tried to murder them, trying, through the words he’d heard, to discern a clue that would help the magistrate apprehend the fellow. Then there was the late Tobias Bertles and his nefarious activities, plus the nagging feeling of a previous encounter that had been with him since they’d first met. James’s reference to the soldier broke his train of thought. He took his arm to hurry him along.
“Captain Latham, as you’ve no doubt observed, James, has impeccable manners. He knows as well as us how deep smuggling goes in these parts, just as he’s aware that Chillenden is a mere six miles from the nearest stretch of beach. The name Ludlow would be recognised, certainly by Cath Hogbin, so he would not insult us by even remotely suggesting that we are …” Harry waved his hand, searching for the word he wanted to complete the sentence. James obliged with one of his own, though certainly not the one that his brother was seeking. “Involved?”
“Don’t be silly, James. How could we possibly be involved?” snapped Harry.
“Why not, brother?” James replied. “As you’ve just observed, Chillenden is close to the shore …”
“I’ve always preferred to avoid such entanglements myself.”
Whatever thoughts those words induced made James reclaim his arm. He stopped again and his eyes took on a sad look. “It must be a fine thing to be so free, Harry. But are you truly detached? I wonder how such things are perceived by others. Hardly in the best light, I fancy. You know how it ails me to agree with Arthur …”
“What are you driving at?” said Harry suspiciously. James detested their brother-in-law, Lord Drumdryan. Introduced into the household after the death of their mother, he had assumed a hand in James’s education, much to the chagrin of the younger man, who could barely tolerate the idea that his sister had married anyone. Harry, absent at sea during most of James’s formative years, often felt that he had benefited more than he should from the invidious comparisons drawn by his younger brother between the upright, housebound Arthur and his rather raffish absentee self. “This day has been singular enough, brother,” he continued. “If I find you agreeing with Arthur I’ll demand to be pinched into wakefulness.”
James stopped to lean on one of the numerous capstans which lined the seaward side of Beach Street, adopting a rather wistful air. “Not that I’ve ever discussed Naomi Smith with Arthur, but I don’t doubt that he thoroughly disapproves, in just the same way that he censors me for what happened with Caroline Farrar.”
“Naomi?”
“Has our absence made the name unfamiliar?”
Harry shook his head. “What brought this on?”
“The word entanglements, Harry. I’m not privy to the details of your relationship with the lady—”
“Nor will you be, brother.”
James ignored the slightly sharp tone. “I wondered if you intended to take up where you left off.”
Harry didn’t reply right away, sifting what James had said to seek his true aim. There was, given James’s nature, just a possibility that he was being baited. Yet his brother knew that his relationship with Naomi Smith was not a subject for family jokes, any more than James’s own “entanglements” lent themselves to drolleries. Possibly James was turning the conversation towards his potential concerns as a way of avoiding contemplation of his own.
He’d come to sea with Harry after a very public affair with another man’s wife. It had ended messily, leaving him a physical and emotional wreck. No doubt he was wondering how he would be received on his return, for they’d not even exchanged a letter these last months. Nor, for that matter, had Harry. But then his case was different. There was a lack of true intimacy that excluded letter-writing. In the rare moments when he contemplated his relationship with Naomi Smith, he’d realised that deep and friendly as it was, their liaison was certainly no more than a convenience. Nothing like the grand passion that James had both enjoyed and suffered.
Naomi was a widow, and happy to remain so. The idea of marrying her had never entered Harry’s head. For all that they enjoyed each other’s company, talking a great deal and laughing at the same things, there existed a gulf between them that both wished to preserve.
“I doubt the question should be addressed to me, brother. If you knew anything about Naomi, you’d realise that she is as likely to decide as I. Not, by the by, that it’s any of your business. And if we are going to discuss Arthur’s capacity for disapproval, then we shall be at it all day.”
James finally grinned. “Upon my soul, brother. An acid remark about Arthur! For a moment, you sounded just like me.”
Harry swung his fist at James’s head. But it had no force, just as his smiling face held no malice.
They were sitting in the quiet anteroom to Mr Temple’s chambers before James became serious once more. These rooms were attached to the side of his house, and given the scale of lawlessness described by Latham it was remarkable they were so empty. Pender had been left at the Three Kings, delighted to keep his feet under the kitchen table.
“Can I make one observation, Harry, regarding the events of the last 24 hours?” He waved his hand around the deserted room. “I am happy we are here, preparing to hand these matters over to the proper authorities. I half feared, given your nature, that once ashore you would go charging about Deal yourself, asking questions.”
Harry yawned and stretched out his feet. “You malign me, brother.”
The single raised eyebrow took enough issue with that statement. The words James used were unnecessary. “Do I, indeed?”
That eyebrow engendered little more than mild pique. Harry Ludlow was aware of some of his habits, if less certain of the depth that took them perilously close to becoming faults.
“Come along, James. You cannot see the difference between being in England, with the law close at hand, and being at the mercy of some other quite arbitrary power. Certainly I’m curious about that fellow who chased us. I am determined to know his name. Equally, I would love to meet him at sea in a ship of my own. Should I do so, well out of sight of an
y other authority than the fates, I will most certainly exact revenge. But here, ashore, or even within reach of the shore, I am as subject to the law as he is. And since there is such a thing available, I’m content to let others do the work of bringing him to justice.”
It was clear his brother didn’t believe him. With good reason. To James’s mind, Harry had a bad temper, few scruples, and an abiding curiosity, coupled to a need to delve into things that didn’t concern him that had nearly proved fatal on more than one occasion.
“Would you say you have learned your lesson, then?”
Harry was shocked at that. “Lesson? That is an exceedingly curious way to put things, brother. I admit the need to see things in the whole, just as I will own to being dissatisfied with matters left incomplete. But even you must acknowledge this: I’ve only ever enquired into subjects that directly affected us.”
James opened his mouth to disagree. He had ample ammunition with which to nail Harry. But he was saved from a contrary observation by the door on the other side of the room, which opened abruptly to admit a squat, black-coated individual, quite clearly in hurry, judging by his fussy manner and the scowl of impatience on his square, red face. He was in the act of cramming a round black hat on to the full wig that identified his profession. The eyes, bright blue, shot up at the sight of Harry and James occupying his anteroom, as though that was in itself an offence.
“Mr Temple?” asked James as they both stood up.
“I am, sir,” replied Temple, sidling towards the outer door.
“We have come to report a grave felony.”
The face, under the powdered wig and round black hat, screwed up in distaste, giving him the appearance of a badly executed beer jug.
“Why, that is most inconvenient, sir.”
“Inconvenient!” snapped Harry. “You are Mr Temple, the magistrate?”
“I believe I have already said so. But you will observe I am in somewhat of a hurry. I have other matters to attend to at this moment.”
Hanging Matter Page 8
