‘You will, and from me. Now pour yourself your dose of claret, which I suspect acts as a balm to your conscience, while I see the children fed.’
When she came back, having given the orders for the children’s meal, she saw him standing over the unlit fireplace. There was a glass of claret on the mantle, seemingly untouched, and by his posture it appeared all the passion, which was his normal mode of behaviour, had gone out of him. Annabel closed the door and, if he heard her, he did not turn round, so she told him about Betsey, in a low voice and without passion. She named Edward Brazier, the man her friend had wanted to wed, as the caller. It was only when she voiced her intention to help reverse matters that he reacted.
‘I forbid it, Annabel.’
‘Which means for the first time in our lives together, I will have to defy you.’
‘You can’t fight Tulkington.’
‘You may not be able to, but I intend to try. What happened between him and you?’
‘Don’t tell me you did not guess.’ She waited, hoping for more, but not sure it would come. ‘He set his brutes upon me, not that it was ever admitted by him. I met him afterwards and it was as if he had no knowledge. But the words used by those beating me with clubs left me in no doubt of the consequences of defiance. So I dropped the boundary suit.’
‘You could have fought on, I would have supported you.’
‘Then you might have ended up a widow and my children would have been without a father.’
‘You believe that?’
‘After what you have just told me, I would be surprised if you do not.’ He turned round finally, showing eyes reddened by now-dried tears. ‘Tulkington controls everything around these parts. I made discreet enquiries about having him taken up for what was done to me. It is at such times you find out who your friends are. No one was prepared to lift a finger.’
‘So you will appease him.’
‘As I must, until those mites sitting eating are old enough to take over from me. Then perhaps …’
Annabel walked over and kissed him gently on the cheek, then took his glass from the mantle and put it in his hand. ‘Drink it, Roger, and bellow, or our mites will wonder if you have been struck down.’
Upton was a poor reader of signs. It never occurred to him that Henry Tulkington, bringing his own mount into the stable the day before, signified anything. So when he said he was going to make a visit to the stud, taking the north gate key and one of the spare coach horses with him, and sure Miss Elisabeth would be out on her usual mid-morning walk, he saw matters as progressing nicely.
Creevy, alerted to keep an eye out, was outside his master’s study window, and informed him as soon as he saw the route Upton was taking. For all his desire for subterfuge, Henry was not one to go out in his indoor clothing; he required a cloak, a hat plus a muffler. Given there was no call for a coach or a horse it engendered curiosity in Grady, then, when he thought about it, a degree of alarm. Added to that was the knowledge that if it did point to trouble, he could do nothing to aid his friend. So he busied himself with the tasks that filled his day, all done, on this occasion, with a silent prayer.
The path Henry was on was not unfamiliar, it was just not one he took much pleasure in. He rarely walked anywhere by habit, which, to his way of thinking, was just another fundamental difference between him and his sister. There had been some rain overnight, so the ground was soft enough to show the odd hoof print and these he followed. Instead of taking him to the lake as he had thought, they went in the direction of the north gate.
He finally spied Upton, not far from where he reckoned the gate to be. Or, to be more precise, he saw the horse he thought was normally hitched to his carriage visible through the trees. Its moving head drew his eye as it cropped the grass. Upton came into view with a slight sideways shift, and there too was Elisabeth, deep in conversation, but very frustratingly, much too far away to overhear.
Not being a natural country fellow, Henry felt it would not do to seek to get closer. Then something occurred which rendered it unnecessary. Upton was holding up a key, one large enough to be seen at a distance, and it took no great imagination to work out what it might fit. Shoulder against an oak, he watched them talk, saw the key being waved, in another part of his mind recalling that these two had always had a connection, one he was sure went beyond mere respect.
Not trusting servants was not just a habit of his; it was a common topic when he met with others, not least their stupidity in the acts they expected to get away with. Was Upton plotting to help Elisabeth escape? He could very easily see the way it would be done. Nor was there any doubt as to where she would go. The groom would suspect, since he never visited the stables or the stud, he would not know a horse was gone. With the gate padlock intact, he might not even suspect the means.
Having seen everything he thought he needed, Henry crept back until he was sure he was well out of sight, then strode out for home. He must be back indoors before Elisabeth returned, which made him stop. What if she was planning to leave this very minute? Thinking hard, he concluded not; what he had observed indicated they had been plotting some future event. Back indoors, disrobed and in front of the fire in his study, he could warm his hands and consider how to handle matters.
Upton had to go, but how to effect it? Would he seek to follow Elisabeth again, either the next day or one thereafter? The thought of catching them in the act provided a delicious frisson of excitement, but that soon subsided; Henry chuckled at his own silent pun, regarding shutting stable doors after his sister had bolted, but there was a serious side to that, which meant waiting was risky.
Should he dismiss Upton with Elisabeth looking on, as a signal her hopes were ever destined to be dashed? Or just leave her to find out, which would have its own pleasures, albeit he would not witness her despair.
‘If it were to be done, it were best done quickly,’ he said to himself, vaguely trying and failing to recall if that was a Shakespearean tag, when it was time to go in search of Creevy.
‘I need to know when a certain party is seen returning. Come to my study window and knock once more.’
‘Got it clear, your honour.’
He waited impatiently until the gardener finally appeared and a knock was all he got. Elisabeth was already in and back to her room before Upton appeared, leading the horse he had taken out. The shock came when it was led into the stables, for Henry Tulkington was waiting for him, looking grim. Beside him stood the most senior of his boys, who could not look him in the eye.
‘Mister Tulkington, sir, two visits to your stables in two days. I’s honoured.’
‘Honour,’ Henry said, seeming to roll the word around in his mouth. ‘Not, I think, given the circumstances, a word that is appropriate.’
Upton was thinking, but not about what he feared might be coming. It was the cook on whom he had been sweet for such a long time. He could almost feel her lips, the stolen kisses and the promise of so much more, the thought bringing a lump to his throat. This he fought to control; he was not going to break down in front of this man.
‘I know you are conspiring with my sister. I saw you this very morning. You have in your possession a certain key, the one that lets you out to the paddocks.’ A hand was held out and, once the object was fetched from his pocket, it was snatched from his hand. ‘I suspect, on the coming visit, you plan to use this to let my sister exit alongside you, to perhaps take out a horse already placed in the paddocks.’
‘I admit to talking with Miss Elisabeth on her walks, but it be because I’ve known her for years and I see her as lonely.’
‘That, Upton, is not your place.’
‘Didn’t reckon it forbidden,’ came out with a hint of defiance.
‘How dare you assume what is permitted and what is not? That is for me to decide, as it is I who employ – and those I do, Upton, must have my complete trust. That you have forfeited, so pack a sack with your possessions. I want you out of Cottington Court as soon as that is done!’
Henry drove home the disgrace by handing the key he was holding, which for many years had been Upton’s to care for, to the lad who would succeed him. He, embarrassed, required a nod to accept it.
‘Your things.’
In his upstairs cubbyhole, as he shoved his possessions into a sack, Upton was left to ruminate on how little he had accumulated in his years of service. A set of slightly better clothes for the annual celebrations, which took him to church. A few knick-knacks he had fashioned in his spare time, and a pair of good boots he got as a gift from the saddle maker for putting business his way. There was a set of kitchen implements provided by the visiting blacksmith, which were, one day, going to be put to furnishing the kitchen he and the cook had dreamt of. They were too heavy to carry and would have to be left.
From behind a loose and removed brick he took a small leather pouch, a very limited stash accumulated over the years, mostly gifts from visiting gentry for care of their horses. It was money that would be going, one day, to pay for a wedding and the entertainment after. What did it matter now? That dream was shattered.
Back down from the loft, sack slung over his shoulder, all that was needed to set him on his way was a hand gesture from Tulkington, pointing towards the main gate. There were to be no farewells, none of the senior servants dared to show sympathy and watch him depart; to do so would anger their master. Even Tanner, well away from the house, had a care to keep his nod of farewell discreet.
Outside the gate, thanking God he had not been searched, he turned for Deal, feeling in his pocket the second key, made as a copy by the blacksmith, the one he had shown to Miss Elisabeth to compare with the original that very morning. He had wanted to give it to her, but she suggested it should stay with him until it was to be used, worried that whatever precautions they took, he would be accused of providing her with aid when she was found to be missing.
‘Do you think it has not been observed, you taking the path to the lake when I’m out walking? What happens if my brother questions everybody, which he will surely do? Will they risk their place to lie to him about that? You need to be solid in your explanations, for it would grieve me that you should suffer. If the worst happens, I must send you to where you will find shelter.’
He was to make for a place called Quebec House, but that would have to wait ’til the morrow. For tonight, he must find a place to lay his head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Edward Brazier, as he walked through the town the following morning, was too preoccupied to notice anything unusual. Had he been more aware, he would have sensed every eye seemed to be upon him, people peering at him as if seeking something internal, rather than the fact of a naval officer merely making his way to wherever he was going. Perhaps his lack of awareness lay in the fact that he was accustomed to attention of that sort.
Aboard ship, when the captain was pacing the quarterdeck with anything in the nature of action being imminent, he became the subject of excessive scrutiny and for a very good reason. From him would flow whatever followed, and seeking to guess what that might be was the common purpose of everyone from the waisters to the premier.
Dutchy Holland, following a few paces behind, and Brazier’s sole escort on this morning, had a sharper antennae, so sensed something amiss. Because no one was looking at him, he could see the way they were eyeing Brazier, to the point, in one or two cases, of stopping, once he had passed them by, to take in his back.
The tasks of this morning were first, to drop by the office of Saoirse Riorden’s lawyer and pay his rent, and to then go on and settle the various bills being run up to keep Quebec House going; food and fuel, plus deliveries of wine. This could have been entrusted to Joe Lascelles, but Brazier saw it as occupying him when he was in limbo.
Some twenty yards behind him and Dutchy, the grubby youngster trailing them was part of the scenery and no cause for comment. It would be his task to tell John Hawker where Brazier had gone and who, if anyone, he visited. Having been out and around the town the previous night, disbursing liberally in the article of bought ale, Hawker knew the cursing and coupling of Brazier and Pitt was coming to a satisfying head. This night, and after he had settled his own bill, he would ensure it caught light. First, he had to make sure the other part of the intention knew what was required of him, unable to avoid alluding to the reward Tulkington had offered.
‘You would never have got such an arrangement from me, Spafford. I would have tied you to the tiller of your lugger in deep water then knocked out the bilge planking.’
Spafford, his ruddy face part hidden by days of growth, managed a grin and a shake of his shackles. ‘Can’t wait to tell Tulkington you think he’s gone soft.’
‘He knows my thinkin’,’ Hawker growled, ‘so don’t you go bothering.’
‘Sold any poor bugger to the Revenue today?’
That had Hawker ball a fist, but it stayed by his side as a still-grinning Spafford drove home what was, in truth, a guess. It was based on a number of inexplicable happenings over many years about which, locked up here, he’d had time to recall and wonder about. Beach folk being nabbed at the same time as there were indications a Tulkington’s cargo was coming in.
It had clearly never occurred to Hawker that his way of playing both ends against the middle was not as clandestine as he supposed and he was thrown off balance. Spafford drove the point home.
‘Offer up a sprat to save Tulkington’s mackerel is it? Happen there will be a temptation to dob me in, once I’m back at the trade.’
‘Why bother,’ was unconvincing and told Spafford he had hit a nerve.
‘Tell that streak of piss you work for, if he tries that on me, every ear in Deal will know how many suffer, with his blessing, to keep him safe. An’ you’ll never get out of Deal alive.’
‘Who’s goin’ to believe the likes of Dan Spafford?’ came with a manufactured sneer.
‘The same fools who will fall for a fancy tale about some sailor cove being hand in glove with Billy Pitt. Who is he, anyway, and what’s he done to get Tulkington so het up?’
‘None of your concern. Just do as you’re bid when darkness falls, then get back to grubbing for a crust. First, you’ve got to talk to your men and tell them what’s been arranged.’
‘They don’t know yet?’ Hawker just shook his head. ‘Need to tell ’em what’s been agreed too.’
‘Up to you, Spafford. I’ll have jugs of ale and some gin fetched in to get them in the right mood.’
‘What a caring soul you are.’
Betsey, out on her walk, as was normal, wondered where Upton had got to. This was to be the morning in which he would let her out of the gate, using the key he had contrived to have made, and immediately return to the stables to cover his back. A horse she could manage easily had been left in the paddock beforehand, for the notion of fetching along a saddle was too obvious.
‘Best I leave the real key behind, Miss Elisabeth − forgetful, like.’ Upton had said this with the air of a man pleased at his cunning. ‘You must take the one I will use with you. Then, once you’re out, I can go back to the stables and slap my head for the booby I am for leaving without the key. Any suspicions an’ you’ll be far gone.’
All she could do was make for the spot where the plot had been hatched and wait with mounting frustration mixed with anxiety, aware of time going by and the need not to be away from the house longer than was normal. With a sinking feeling, she finally began to retrace her steps, as usual, when she entered the formal garden, taking a doffed cap and a greeting from Creevy.
She was sorely tempted to cross to the opposite gate, which led to the stables. That had to be resisted, so she went to and opened the front door to find Henry in the hallway. Both his presence and the look on his face, a superior air, led her to suspect her plan had been thwarted, not that she let on in any way; she just tried to ignore him.
Grady appeared, as he always did, to take her cloak, his long face a mask devoid of emotion. If something ha
d happened to Upton, he would know about it and, if he had never been as open as the groom, she was sure he felt sympathy for her. But there was no chance of showing any with his master standing close by; he was not going to let on by even a gesture.
‘That will be all, Grady,’ Henry said, which had the servant depart with more than normal haste. As Betsey moved towards the staircase, her brother sought to block her way ‘Much as you may not wish it, Elisabeth, you and I are going to have to talk.’
‘We have nothing to discuss.’
‘Yes we do, not least how unsuitable was your choice of prospective husband.’ That required another sideways shuffle to block her attempt to progress. ‘I have learnt things about him that entirely vindicate my initial reservations. Call it intuition.’
Betsey actually laughed, a little forced and louder than she felt it warranted, but enough to have the effect required. Henry hated to be laughed at more than anything, a fact she had known from a very early age. It was a pleasure to see colour come to his pallid face, a sure sign of anger, proved by his grating tone.
‘It had been imparted to me that he may well have committed murder.’
‘Then I am not the only one to think you stupid.’
‘Practice of your wit will not alter the facts.’
‘Facts? What you surely mean is your imaginings, or the bile someone has been pouring into your only-too-ready-to-listen ear. Now you will oblige me by standing aside and allowing me the stairs.’
‘So who killed Admiral Hassall?’ Henry asked, expecting her to be shocked.
‘A snake killed him, one of your venomous kindred spirits.’
‘You knew of this?’
‘Not that it’s any of your concern, Henry, but I knew of a great deal of idle gossip, most of it generated by jealousy at Edward’s good fortune. To that was added a strong dislike in the planter community for a man who put his duty before the notion of popularity. Now, do I have to push you aside or will you get out of the way?’
A Lawless Place Page 24
