Hanging Matter

by David Donachie

  But Arthur was too long in the tooth to allow James’s gibes to pierce his skin. He replied smoothly. “I have had occasion to observe, James, that some men can drink and still keep a clear head for business, while others, normally quite abstemious, cannot handle their own affairs competently, let alone those of the nation.”

  Arthur took good care to emphasise the word “affair.” He might just have well called Lady Farrar by name. Her spendthrift husband had objected vehemently to being publicly cuckolded and reminded his wife where her duty lay. James had no option but to withdraw, a loss which had nearly ruined him. His silence in response to Arthur’s barbed comment was evidence that even an oblique mention of Caroline still had the capacity to wound. Arthur signalled to the footman standing behind Harry’s chair and addressed his next remark to a rather confused Wentworth.

  “You will forgive me, sir, if Captain Ludlow and I retire, for we have many matters to discuss.”

  “Tonight?” said Harry, slightly surprised.

  Arthur gave him a look that brooked no refusal, though he went through the formalities. “I trust you will oblige me, Harry, for there is much to report. That is unless you are too fatigued.”

  Harry looked at his sister, sure that she would rescue him from the need to undertake such labours so soon. No one knew better than Anne how much he disliked looking over domestic accounts. But she turned away from his look of supplication, which only served to reinforce Harry’s impression that things were far from right.

  “Come, Mr Wentworth,” said Anne. “You may return to the drawing-room with James and me, to play cards.”

  “I should go, Harry,” said James, with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Arthur obviously feels the burden of playing host to a man in his own house. He longs to relinquish the load.”

  Arthur’s voice was as smooth as the silk of his coat. “How right you are, James. I am not as comfortable with dependancy as you. But I reassure myself in that I, at least, make a contribution.”

  There was, quite simply, no one who could get under James’s skin like Arthur. The younger Ludlow was a man who could turn an insult on its head with ease, in any company bar this. When he replied, he lacked his normal sang-froid.

  “Then I hope you’ve kept account of your domestic consumption, Arthur.”

  Arthur permitted himself another slight smile. “I keep account of everything, James, including the ‘burdens’ placed on me by wayward relations.”

  “James,” said Anne pleadingly, as her brother opened his mouth to speak.

  “My dear,” said Arthur. “Pray let him speak. You know as well as I how we have missed his well-honed wit. After all, locked away in the country as we are, we depend on James to keep us abreast of what people of fashion consider amusing.”

  Harry cut in quickly. “I think you said something about business, Arthur.” He stood up abruptly, forcing everyone else to follow suit. But Arthur wasn’t finished, requesting James to stay behind for a second while Wentworth and his wife headed for the drawing-room. Arthur delivered his blow as soon as the door closed behind them.

  “While you have been away, James, Lord Farrar has issued a writ against you for criminal conversation with his wife. I have, at some expense, managed to delay matters. But I was obliged, since I knew you were in the country, to write to our attorneys as soon as I received Harry’s note from Deal. Thus the case will be heard shortly.”

  “Is he seeking damages?” asked James coldly.

  Arthur nodded. “Fifteen thousand guineas.”

  “Is he aware what such a case will do to his wife’s reputation?” asked Harry.

  Arthur smiled at James, but it was a cold, heartless look. “Given the very public nature of their affair, I doubt her reputation will suffer.”

  “Damn you,” said James, as Harry held up his hand.

  “From what James tells me, the man’s sole interest is in money.” He turned to his brother, who was quite pale. “Buy him off, James. And if your own means don’t run to the cost, you may call upon me.”

  Arthur had angered Harry and he knew it. But he had paid James back for his earlier gibes, and he looked like a man who considered it well worthwhile.

  “Him being a Scotchman don’t help.” Tite hit the table with the flat of his gnarled hand. “You can’t trust a Scotchman. Look what they got up to in ’45. And he might say it was never so, but his papa was behind Pretender Charlie all the way.”

  Pender nodded without understanding. The events of the Jacobite rebellion were lost in the mists of time. He hadn’t even been born. And as for Scotchmen, the few he’d met were neither better nor worse than any other, so he was indifferent to the tag. All this talk was just another indication of Tite’s loyalties. He would discuss Lord Drumdryan, unflatteringly, till breakfast. But he was less willing to open up about the Ludlows. Pender was just as close-mouthed about how he come into the family service. If Harry Ludlow wanted to tell Tite about that he would do so. Besides, Pender’s mind was on other things, for it was clear from what Tite said that his family had not yet come to Cheyne Court and that worried him.

  “What are you like with a musket?”

  The question surprised him. “I knows how to handle one.”

  “Good,” said Tite.

  “An’ why would that be?”

  The old man’s blue, rheumy eyes narrowed just a touch. The voice, which hitherto had been reasonably friendly, took on harsher note.

  “I don’t know what way you attended of Captain Ludlow at sea, or on land for that matter. But whatever you did won’t be necessary here at Cheyne, ’cause he’ll be well cared for by others. But you can’t just sit here, soaking up his food, without doin’ summat. His lordship has enclosed most of the Cheyne land, so all those he hasn’t employed are idle. They don’t think to labour so as to fill their pot, which means there’s work to do at night. You might as well take out a musket against poachers, as sit on your arse doing nowt.”

  “I’ve no mind to blaze off at a hungry man, Mr Tite.”

  “Even if he’s robbin’ your master?” demanded the old man, staring at him hard.

  Pender’s voice was even, and his eyes were every bit as steady as old Tite’s. “That’s somethin’ I shall put to Captain Ludlow, should he ask me.”

  They sat silently, eyes locked, as Tite tried to stare him down. The old man cherished his authority, that was plain, and he didn’t want anyone in the house outside it. But Pender was not one to buckle, even to the likes of Harry Ludlow. He didn’t have a servile bone in his body and his attachment to Harry and James had been forged by necessity, before turning into one engendered by respect. But the respect was mutual. Pender was not above telling them, in his way, that they were over-stepping the mark. So he was not about to be put upon by this old man, and if that meant he had to appear like a proper hardcase, so be it.

  “I don’t think you quite understand your station, Pender,” said Tite.

  Pender leant forward, elbows on the kitchen table, and smiled.

  “I do, old man. Just as much as I smoke your game. Now I know that the captain has itchy feet, so I don’t reckon that he an’ I will be here all that long. You leave me be an’ I’ll cause you no trouble. But don’t order me about, mate, or the place won’t be the same, ever again, even after we are long gone.”

  Tite wasn’t easily cowed. He’d dealt with this problem all his life. It was always the same. You had to set out who was bossman. And in Cheyne Court, he considered that to be his prerogative.

  “I see I’ll have to have words about you.”

  Pender leant back in the chair with a smile, and softened his tone. “Do that, mate. But in the meantime, if you want something done, you just ask. Seein’ as how I’m an obligin’ sort, you might just get a result.” Tite smiled too, showing his gums, sure that he’d won. The threat of him having words with Harry Ludlow had put this bugger in his place. But for all Pender was smiling, his next words had ample force to change that. “Mind, just you be su
re you say please. For if you don’t I’ll shove my fist so far up your withered arse folks’ll think you’ve got a new set of shiny white teeth.”

  The old servant padded up the hall, stopping at the entrance to the drawing-room. The voices inside were muffled by the doors, but he could hear enough to comprehend that they were playing cards. He shuffled from foot to foot, not quite sure what to do. It was always the same with a bit of dirt. You could never tell the value till you’d spilled the beans. Tite desperately wanted to talk to James Ludlow. He could tell him if his brother was still sweet on Naomi Smith. He certainly had been the last time he was home, but Tite, having shifted his own connubial allegiances all his life, wanted to be sure. If things still stood as they had, then maybe he could settle Drumdryan’s hash once and for all.

  Not that you could ever tell with Harry Ludlow. He was too like his father. Tite recalled many a time when he slipped a secret to the admiral only to find he was the one getting a verbal keelhauling, instead of the person he’d split on. There was no way of telling in advance. He made his way down to the door of the library and listened to the faint voices of Harry and Drumdryan, wondering whether he should say anything at all.

  “No need to make my mind up, right off. But once I know how the land lies …”

  Tite stopped suddenly, for he realised that he was talking to himself. And talking loud enough to be overheard.

  “I’m getting old,” he said, as he headed back to his room. There was rum there, and peace to think out loud if he wanted to. “A few measures of grog, an’ then I’ll go out and get after them bloody poachers.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I FIRED OFF a complaint to Thurlow as soon as I received your note,” said Arthur. “Just as well, it seems. I don’t know Deal well, but the lack of zeal in country magistrates is a national scandal.”

  Harry was surprised, first that his brother-in-law had been so quick off the mark, and secondly that he’d taken the matter to such an elevated authority as the Lord Chancellor himself. Then he recalled the earlier conversation with the naval captain, Billings. That had been the correct suggestion as far as he was concerned, so perhaps Arthur had acted wisely. Yet for some reason he looked piqued at the need to explain, another manifestation of Arthur’s discomfort since his return.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t wait to hear about things in more detail.”

  He tried hard not to make that sound like a rebuke. But the sour look on Arthur’s face told him he’d failed.

  “The wheels of justice grind slowly, Harry. I felt it best to get something off immediately. I cannot believe someone as impatient as you could disagree.”

  Arthur’s green eyes held Harry’s in a steady gaze, as if waiting for another challenge.

  The wheels of justice move too slowly for me, thought Harry, who had half resolved to ignore James’s strictures and ask around himself. For that reason he said nothing, knowing Arthur’s reaction.

  “What about Pender’s family?” he asked, changing the subject.

  Arthur dropped the stare, and looked at the papers in his lap. “We’ve had no luck there, I’m afraid.”

  Harry scowled. “I am committed to this.”

  “Your letters left me in no doubt how important it was. I sent a man all the way to Portsmouth, Harry, but he failed to locate them.”

  Harry smiled. “I should think, if they are related to Pender, they’re well versed in the arts of avoidance.”

  “That makes him sound like a very unsavoury character.”

  Harry had no intention of letting Arthur know Pender’s true profession. That was something that was behind him now. “He’s just the opposite, Arthur, and another effort must be made to find them. As I said, I gave Pender my word.”

  Arthur nodded, but his eyes held a quizzical expression. Harry knew he would agree with the keeping of his word. It was the reasons why such an undertaking had been given that engaged his curiosity.

  “Your letter only hinted …”

  Harry was reminded how much he left out in his communications with Arthur. He stayed with the bare facts regarding the sinking of his ship, the Medusa, and although he’d alluded to subsequent difficulties, he hadn’t stated how serious matters had become. And saying now that James had faced death by hanging would do nothing to aid relations between them. It would just be another stick Arthur would use to beat his brother. He knew even less about the sordid events that had taken place in Genoa.

  “He saved my life, Arthur, and he helped me to save James as well.”

  The mention of James made Arthur purse his lips slightly. But he could see the gleam of determination in Harry’s eye, just as he could discern his desire that the conversation should move on.

  “Then he deserves such gratitude. Do you intend to retain him as a servant?”

  Harry smiled. “I intend to ask him to remain with me. The choice will be his.”

  Arthur decided not to pursue the remark, instead pointing towards the desk. The great pile of ledgers, which contained the details of every act that Arthur had undertaken, lay unopened, save the one relating his privateering activities in the Medusa. Harry had no intention of opening any of the others tonight. After all, being here alone with Arthur provided a splendid opportunity to find out if anything was indeed amiss. He’d always felt that the situation at Cheyne was one he and Arthur found mutually beneficial. Yet something had changed, and it surely wasn’t just the imminent arrival of a child. He set himself to find out why.

  Yet, in Arthur, he was dealing with a person well versed in the art of avoiding definitive statements. His brother-in-law dissembled expertly. He wished Harry to know that he was not entirely happy, without ever giving the impression that he was in any way complaining. Finally tiring of verbal fencing, Harry decided to try a more direct approach.

  “I realise that I have shamefully abused you, Arthur.”

  The other man’s gaze didn’t flicker by so much as an eyelash. “Abused me, Harry? What an odd thing to say. You give me the run of your house, food and drink, as well as something to do. I am, in your absence, seen as the seigneur of Cheyne. When I write to the ministry on your behalf, I carry the weight of a man of parts. The government is well aware that I appoint the parliamentary representation. As a consequence they show me a great deal of respect. I hardly call that abuse.”

  “For all you say, you’re not content.”

  Arthur raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Few humans are content, in my experience.”

  “Perhaps if you were to outline to me what it is that you want …”

  “I don’t want anything,” said Arthur coldly.

  Harry could interpret that quite easily. Arthur wanted something, but he was not prepared to ask for it. He put the matter aside for further consideration and turned back to business. The ledgers relating to the income from Cheyne would wait till the morrow, for he knew that Arthur was scrupulous in that regard.

  But there were other matters that required clarification. There were the figures relating to the profits that he’d made from privateering at the outbreak of the war with France. He’d got to sea in double quick time, before most of the incoming French merchant ships knew that the conflict had started. Two of the prizes he’d taken had been deep-laden ships from India. Arthur showed him the results of his cruise, with a net profit of £90,000, which did not include a sum of gold that he’d traded in at the port of Genoa.

  For a moment his mind turned to the ship he lost and the events that had forced him home from the Mediterranean. He’d also had a ship, sunk in the Bay of Biscay by the King’s Navy, which had curtailed a successful cruise as a privateer. How went his compensation claim?

  “I insured the ship, Harry, at the Lloyd’s Coffee House. If there is a case for compensation, I’m sure that they will be able to pursue it far better than we. You will find the sum for that has been entered.”

  Harry nodded happily, and continued his interrogation. ‘What of the crew who’d been pressed into t
he navy?’

  Arthur’s fingers were still ranging across the ledger. “I was just coming to that. All the shares which were owed to the crew are invested in government stock, earning interest while they serve King George. Some of those who sailed with you have deserted. I must say they add up to a surprising number. All have come here and been paid their proportion of the profits.”

  “Then what?” asked Harry eagerly. These men could form the nucleus of a new crew once he had another ship.

  “Since their impressment was illegal, I have given them protection. They are already provided with funds, but I added that they would be paid a retainer until I knew what you required. I had hoped you would say in your letters, but these were exceedingly vague about your intentions.”

  Arthur’s jaundiced look lent effect to his next statement. “I told them to return to their homes and await you, not anticipating the time you would take.”

  Harry flushed slightly. The length of time they’d taken on their trip from Genoa couldn’t merely be explained away by the threat of French incursions. James belonged to that community of artists, writers, painters, and sculptors which was truly international. Every stop on their way home had been to visit someone whose reputation James esteemed. They’d been royally entertained, and given the nature of the work their hosts performed, their kindness, and the society they moved in, the Ludlow brothers’ dalliance had included more than visits to studios and the like. He deflected an explanation by asking another string of questions. Was the letter of marque that permitted him to sail as a privateer still valid? What method had Arthur employed to alert the men who’d deserted to his return? Did his exemptions, which forbade the navy to press men out of his ship at sea, still hold good for a different crew? As was usual in such discussions, Arthur pounced on the last question first.