Harry was sitting on the pile of stones that had so recently been his tomb, picking pebbles out of his clothes, while Braine’s men fetched yet more barrow-loads of shingle from the beach. His hurried explanations of how he came to be there had singularly failed to dent the exciseman’s angry demeanour. In fact Braine had curtly advised him that he had only himself to blame, and he’d be better off minding his nose and sticking to farming.
The reference to farming stung, for Harry hated it, proud as he was of his reputation afloat. He spoke when he should have remained silent. It was clear that he could not count on Braine as an ally. Why this was so he couldn’t say. But it was a fact that had been plain from the first time they’d met.
“I think I can hand you the King of the Smugglers on a platter.”
Braine snorted contemptuously. “It will take more’n you to nobble Temple, sir.”
“You know who he is?” asked Harry wearily.
Braine mistook his tone of voice, seeing Harry’s recognition of reality as some kind of criticism. He barked back defensively.
“What do you think I’ve been about all these years? I’ve known who he is since I came here. Not that it be much of a secret. But knowin’ don’t help, for even if I haul him in for something I’m sure he’s done, he’ll have a dozen men swear that he’s innocent, as well as a local jury packed with his half-brother’s mates.”
“And if he was tried in another court?”
“Magistrate Temple would make sure he weren’t, not for smuggling at any rate.”
“What if the charge was attempted murder?” asked Harry slowly.
“Never mind murder attempted, Ludlow. He’s killed any number of people. Who’d you think put the black on young Charlie Taverner? The same rules apply. Temple don’t do his own dirty work. He leaves that to others. Say you can get him before a Quarter-sessions court. He might not be able to get the jury he wants, but neither will you get a conviction. Why? ’Cause you’ll never come up with the proof. Temple sits like a spider at the centre of a web, only the strands are dug out of chalk.”
He saw the look on Harry’s face and gave a ghost of a smile. “Aye, Mr Ludlow. We know about them tunnels an’ all, though we’re stumped when it comes to where they run.”
“At the risk of a rebuke, I am forced to ask if you are at all interested in curtailing smuggling.”
Braine frowned, as though the answer to the question was obvious. It didn’t make him angry, as Harry intended it should. After all, he’d only just escaped with his life and he felt entitled to a degree of pique that redress was seemingly impossible. The exciseman indicated the pile of stones in front of them, which now filled three-quarters of the cellar.
“I grant you that this shocks me to the marrow. It goes against the grain, an’ no mistake. But as to smugglin’, you can’t stop it, Ludlow. Leastways not with what I’ve got to hand.”
Harry was, if anything, even more sarcastic. “Then why bother with Preventative Officers?”
That needled him. The purple, craggy face, thrown into relief by the lantern at his side, went two shades darker. “We contain it, sir. If it wasn’t for us every man on the coast would be engaged in the trade.”
“And murder,” said Harry coldly. For after the previous two days that seemed just as prevalent.
Braine didn’t reply. He merely shook his head, as if mystified. Harry felt there was no point in pursuing matters further, for the truth was obvious. Braine and Temple had some kind of unwritten, probably unstated pact. The exciseman accepted he could not get a conviction against Temple, while the smuggler knew that provided he kept matters within bounds, throwing Braine the odd small success like Digby Cavell and his hogshead of Genever, they could live side by side. Should Braine prove over-zealous the fate of young Taverner could be waved in his face. In some respects Braine was like a partner in Temple’s enterprise, making it difficult for anyone else, smaller in stature and lacking protection, to engage in the business in any serious way.
Bertles, by his ill-fated enterprise, had upset their neat arrangement. Both were happy he was gone, so that they could now settle down in peace. Perhaps Braine had been a more energetic officer once. But he had been taught a telling lesson. Harry recalled the way he had related the story about his fellow exciseman’s fate, one he’d so nearly suffered himself. But Harry suspected that long before Braine discovered that Preventative Officer’s body in the cellar he was aware that Temple could kill him at any time he chose. For what he was getting, acting as a surrogate for a man who took the lion’s share of the money that went with his occupation, it wasn’t worth dying. Better to live, draw his stipend, turn in enough small fry to convince those in power he was diligent, and leave Temple to get on with his nefarious trade.
“What if I were to bring a charge against Temple myself?”
Braine looked at him, his face registering neither enthusiasm nor displeasure. “You can do that, for sure, Ludlow. But you’ve seen the lengths they’ll go to for what seems, to my mind, a trifling thing. I reckon you’ll be dead before you get halfway home.”
“What’s to say that won’t happen anyway, Mr Braine? After all, I’ve survived one attempt on my life already. What happens when they discover they’ve failed?”
Braine looked at him from under his heavy brows, contemplating his response for a long time. Finally, as if acknowledging that there was no other way to say the answer, he spoke.
“I’ve already said I find it hard to believe that Temple would do a thing like this. Not that he ain’t capable, mind. I know he is. It’s just …” Braine waved his hands, as though the word he needed eluded him. The one he finally used sounded, to Harry, wholly inappropriate. “Odd.”
The sound he heard in the tavern, of a heavy purse landing on the table top, came back to mind. “There’s no nobility here, Braine. He was paid.”
But Braine looked as if he hadn’t heard him. His eyes were fixed on the beams that held up the roof.
“As I say, a trifling thing. What you was about …”
“I wasn’t about anything.”
Braine turned his gaze on Harry, with an expression of pity on his face. “If you lay low, Mr Ludlow, with the air of a man contrite, I think I can square things so that you’ll be left in peace. After all, it was no skin off his nose, and Bertles is gone.”
Harry balled his fists to contain himself. Even justifiable anger would serve no purpose for there was a more important aim to be gained. Braine might speak for Temple, indeed believe that he could persuade him to leave Harry be. Perhaps he was right. But the Preventative Officer had not been present when Bertles died. That man, whoever he was, did not have an ounce of pity in his frame. If ever Harry Ludlow had heard the utterances of a man who enjoyed killing for its own sake, it was when he sat off the Planet’s quarter.
Perhaps Temple could be stopped, seeing that further action could sorely affect his business, since it could force Braine to do his job properly. But would the real culprit desist? That was where the root of the problem lay. All he needed was the man’s name, and some idea of where to find him. Braine knew who it was, and it was worth trying, just once more, to find out.
“And the man who paid Temple, who tried to run me down in the jolly-boat. The same man whom I caught skulking around my house the other night …?”
Braine shrugged but interrupted, clearly not wishing to wait for Harry to ask him to identify the man. “Why did you help a fool like Bertles purchase his ship?”
“Where has this absurd idea come from? I first met Bertles in Flushing, when he already had a ship.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Harry glared at him. “I shall spare you the need to explain where you acquire your information, sir. But I am speaking the truth, and what’s more I can prove it, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
Braine’s lined face took on a more positive look. “Then we have here a misunderstanding, Mr Ludlow. If that’s the truth, it’s just a case of convincing
another party it’s so, and things can return to normal.”
It wouldn’t do, not by a long chalk, but Harry composed his face, seeking to appear as if he accepted Braine’s statement at face value. This was a problem he’d have to deal with himself, though how he was to go about it was as much of a mystery as any other. But if he couldn’t have the Preventative Officer on his side, Harry certainly didn’t need him as an enemy. It was more instinct than logic that dictated his reply.
“You wish me to leave the matter in your hands, Mr Braine?”
They could hear the metal wheel of the barrow trundling along the hard-packed earth on the street. This private conversation would have to end anyway. It was a measure of Braine’s caution that he nodded rather than spoke, even though it would have been impossible for his men to hear him.
“Captain Latham, I would be obliged by the provision of an escort. I need to get back to Cheyne Court and I have good cause to believe that there are a number of people who would like to stop me.”
The elegant soldier looked at Harry’s soiled, salt-streaked clothes, his eyes lingering at the point where Harry’s sword should have hung, and his eyebrows rose in a quizzical expression. “Have you been set upon again, Mr Ludlow?”
Harry nodded curtly. Latham gave him a little smile but said nothing, being far too polite to enquire about the details. He gave an explanation which was brief and decidedly inaccurate, for he left out mention of Temple and of being buried alive, as well as Braine’s offer to mediate on his behalf, confining himself to the fact that an attempt had been made on his life. Even if it sounded feeble in his ears, it was clearly sufficient. The captain turned and pulled the silken cord that would summon a servant to his rooms. Then he turned and opened a large chest. “I shall accompany you myself, sir. And in case we do meet trouble, I shall furnish you with these.”
Latham turned round and presented Harry with a box containing a brace of pistols. A servant appeared at the door and he issued a stream of instructions: his riding boots to be fetched from the kitchen at once; both horses, his and Harry’s, to be outside the door, saddled and ready to leave, in fifteen minutes; a note to rouse out his sergeant with an order to get an escort party ready, with a corporal in charge, light marching order plus muskets and bayonets. Harry was impressed by his evident efficiency. Latham gave a deliberate impression of studied languor in all his doings. He couldn’t help wondering what someone so obviously competent was doing here, building barracks, while the armies across the Channel, retreating before the enemy, so clearly lacked proper officers.
“It is good of you, sir,” said Harry. “I would not ask if I thought it unnecessary.”
Latham, putting on his sword, favoured Harry with his most engaging grin. His dark brown eyes positively twinkled, which with his olive cast of skin gave him the look of a Barbary corsair. This impression was enhanced when he pulled the weapon out of its scabbard, obviously relishing the sound it made. He held it up before his eyes, twisting it to catch the light.
“Why, Mr Ludlow, you have quite made my day. You cannot comprehend how bored I am. Not that I would have you set upon for the world, but …”
The sword swung through the air, whistling in a quick cut and parry. “May God forgive me for saying so, but I hope whoever attacked you tonight tries again.”
“You’d be better off with these,” said Harry, holding up the freshly loaded pistols.
The sword whistled through the air again in a repeat of the previous motion. “They do not provide the pleasure of a blade, sir. And I have observed that cold steel terrifies the enemy more than the prospect of a ball.”
The horses were ready and outside the door of the Three Kings in the required fifteen minutes. Cath Hogbin, ignoring the baleful eye of her father, watched her hero as they made their way out of the door, her eyes gleaming as she took in Latham’s martial bearing. They mounted swiftly and the captain gave her a slight wave. Then he turned to face Harry. “You fear these ruffians will try again, Mr Ludlow. It strikes me, sir, that your survival will be common knowledge soon. Deal is mighty porous in the article of rumour.”
“I dare say it is known in the wrong quarters already,” replied Harry grimly. He had contemplated sneaking away, but had put that aside on the good grounds that had he done so he would have been on his own and extremely vulnerable to a determined pursuit. Since his survival could not really be kept a secret, then it mattered little how quickly it became public. Latham had obviously come to the same conclusion.
“Then, once we have gathered up our escort, let us parade through the town. Those who mean you harm should be made aware that you are now under the protection of the army.”
“You do not fear a riot, Captain?”
Latham shook his head slowly. He knew, as well as Harry, how much a file of soldiers could incite the local populace. “I think I told you that one of my men was shot on the beach last month. I was constrained then by that very consideration, ordered to do nothing. It was an error, Mr Ludlow. It never does to be pusillanimous in the face of a threat. So as to the possibility of a riot, I desire one more than I fear it. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to turn this den of iniquity on its head.”
Harry grinned at him. “Let us make it so, Captain Latham.”
The soldier gave his horse a gentle nudge and they cantered off past the naval yard, riding round the dark mass of Deal Castle to the tented encampment in the paddock at the rear. Harry could see that everyone was awake, for lanterns bobbed about the place as the sergeant called out his orders to prepare their escort. As soon as he saw his officer approach he detached himself from that duty and ran to report.
“I want the pickets doubled around the barracks site, Sergeant. I dare say what I have in mind will cause some people to seek vengeance by liberating more of our bricks.”
The men had formed up, their capes buttoned against the cold, their muskets at the ready. Latham rode to the front of the troop and turned his horse before giving the order to proceed. Harry came alongside him at the head of his men, excited himself by the noise of their boots crunching on the hard earth.
“Damn it, Mr Ludlow, all we lack is a fife and drum!”
A crowd gathered, as it always does when soldiers march. Latham led his men along Lower Street, sunk below sea-level. The lights of the Old Play House danced on the polished metal of the soldiers’ accoutrements, and, since the customers were of the better sort, the detachment was favoured with a huzzah.
Harry shouted above the noise. “I am minded to pass the Hope and Anchor, Captain Latham.”
The officer nodded and swung his troops up one of the narrow streets that led to Middle Street. They marched past the innumerable inns and taverns, bursting with customers, their heavy boots crashing in time on the new-laid paving, and echoing off the walls of the tall, narrow houses. The whores of Portobello Court, still working hard, jeered them as they passed. No one stood outside the Hope and Anchor, nor bothered to come and look, even though Latham slowed his men to make the point.
The detachment marched all the way along till the buildings ceased, leaving just the outline of Sandown Castle and the corn mill against the dark, starlit sky. Harry knew as they’d passed the Hope and Anchor that for all the apparent indifference he’d been observed. That pleased him. He wanted to give those who’d wished him harm ample opportunity to observe that their attempt at murder had failed. Let them worry about what he would do next.
“I must of course return to my post. But I can leave the men here for a day if you wish,” said Latham.
“I doubt that’s necessary, Captain.”
“Do you think your servants are sufficient to protect you?”
Arthur shook his head, but Latham was looking at Harry, who nodded emphatically. He didn’t enjoy telling Latham a deliberate falsehood. The man had come to his aid in the most timely manner. Mind, he felt he had little choice, for what he planned was likely to lead to a serious breach of the peace. Since its maintenance,
under the orders of a magistrate, was part of Latham’s responsibilities, it would be best for him to be unaware. Harry doubted that the captain would forbid him to act if he knew. But he dared not risk that possibility.
“The countryside is as close as the town, once alerted. No strangers will be able to get within a mile of Cheyne Court without my knowledge.”
Latham looked at the ground and frowned, giving Harry just enough time to gesture to Arthur, bidding him to say nothing.
“You will have seen how long it took us to get here last night. I cannot come to your rescue in time if you are attacked.”
“Never fear, Captain Latham. I have any number of neighbours who will be only too happy to assist.”
“Then I’d best get my men on their way, lest they become overfamiliar with the contents of your larder. They will not take kindly to their rations if exposed to proper cooking.”
He turned to face Arthur, giving him a small bow. “May I thank you, Lord Drumdryan, and your wife, for you have treated both me and my men most handsomely.”
“It is the very least we could do, sir,” said Arthur, returning the bow. “And I am sure I speak for Mr Ludlow when I say that you will be welcome at this house any time your duties permit.”
Latham lifted his head and sniffed the air, which was full of the smell of fresh-baked bread. “That is an offer I may be tempted to accept in very short order …”
All three men spun round to attend to Anne as she bustled into the room, her cheeks flushed with happiness. She’d taken the escort in hand as soon as Latham arrived, ushering them into the area of the kitchen where they could be warmed and fed.
Hanging Matter Page 21
