Sarah Lovell could not complete the sentence; it was, to her, too terrible to contemplate. Henry was visibly shocked, rendering ashen a face already pale.
‘Captain Brazier has made his intentions towards me clear. I have made no formal acceptance, but I am comfortable in the knowledge that his desires are reciprocated and you should be too. If not, it is my decision and I cannot help your feelings.’
‘Just two years a widow and you can contemplate a step such as this?’
‘Yes, Henry, and welcome the prospect of no longer suffering loneliness and grief. It is two and a half years since Stephen passed away, so I am closer to the time when I can respectably contemplate a second marriage, and that to a man who is well aware of what society will accept. He is also happy to wait for the required period of mourning to pass.’
‘And what if he gets bored?’ Henry sneered. ‘Will we find him trawling Portobello Court like every other sailor who comes ashore in Deal?’
‘Henry!’ was the shocked response from his aunt; such places as Portobello Court were not mentioned in polite society. Betsey was thinking of the Playhouse, and her unwarranted suspicions, of which she was now reassured. Edward would never voluntarily visit an establishment like that. Even less would he be seen near Portobello Court, a den of true iniquity.
‘How dare you!’ Betsey spat, with no decorum at all.
Aunt Sarah’s sensibilities were utterly ignored; indeed, they were further degraded by her nephew. ‘Tars are not of the kind to keep their breeches buttoned for long, regardless of what they protest, which is followed, as sure as night follows day, by the surgeon’s probe.’
Sarah Lovell’s napkin was now at her lips, and her face was drained of blood.
‘Forgive his gutter mind, Aunt Sarah, as I do, for I know of whom he speaks and he does not.’
‘What I do know is this,’ came the reply, delivered just after a strong blow of the nose into the ever-present handkerchief. ‘He will never pass through the gate to my house again.’
Betsey chose to sneer, the tone of her voice full of mirth, in an attempt to control her anger. ‘And I would refrain from asking him to, brother, for fear he might put a ball or a sabre in your chest for your effrontery. A man who knows how to behave as a gentleman will not stand your insults and it is as well he is not here to witness them.’
Henry stood up, rubbing hard at his stomach. ‘I cannot bear more of this. My digestion is in turmoil.’
‘I might add, Henry, that Captain Brazier has taken a house, in which he is looking forward to receiving me as his guest.’ In an aside to Aunt Sarah, she added, ‘Properly chaperoned, of course.’
Henry, still rubbing at his gut, saw his chance to sneer. ‘What a pity you will be unable to return the compliment.’
Betsey rose, threw down her napkin and stormed out. On the way to her room, she wondered if Henry had issued instructions to the gatekeeper to keep her from leaving; he was perfectly capable of it, Tanner having made it plain he had been angry the previous night. Also in her mind were the kinds of tales she had heard of sisters and widows who had fallen out with their family, usually over an inheritance, to be branded insane and confined in isolation, with no idea whether such tales were lurid inventions or the truth.
With such considerations it seemed politic to take precautions and a plan came to mind, which she knew she must act upon immediately or at least when the house moved into its mid-morning somnolence. The rain had stopped and the sky had begun to clear, so she resolved to depart when the servants were at those duties – things like polishing the silverware, preparing food and laying out crockery – which kept them away from the major rooms and common areas unless summoned.
Dressed once more in a cloak and bonnet, a heavy fur muff to keep her hands warm and what she carried hidden, she quietly left the house and, having made sure the ever-eager dogs stayed by the stables, exited through the kitchen garden and set off down the long path to the exterior gate, her heart beating increasingly faster at the approach. Tanner emerged with his ill-tempered mutt and a look on his face that boded ill.
‘I has instructions, Mrs Langridge, from the master, to not let you leave Cottington without his say-so.’
Fury would not answer and there was no point in returning to the house to challenge Henry, so she tried a calmly delivered threat.
‘I wonder, Tanner, if you know the penalty for holding a person in confinement against their express wishes?’ The toothless face, creased already, took on the appearance of an aged and desiccated prune. ‘At the extreme, it can lead to the gallows, at the very least to a prison hulk, now that we lack transportation to the Americas as an option.’
‘Mrs Langridge I—’
‘Of course, if my brother has given you written instructions, he will bear the opprobrium.’
‘I don’t have letters, ma’am, never have had.’
‘So nothing in writing?’ A shake of the head. ‘Never mind, I’m sure he will support you when you’re had up. Open the gate?’
‘Can’t ma’am.’
‘Very well,’ Betsey replied, ‘I have made you aware of the consequences.’
That imparted she turned and made her way back towards the house. Halfway up the drive she looked over her shoulder to check Tanner had gone back into the gatehouse. With no sign of him, she skipped off the path and into the woods, thinking her brother was not just a misanthrope, he was a fool.
Henry had never been one to play outside – she was told it was the case even before she was born – so he did not know his own estate as a place of adventure; she had and did, so knew of the old postern gate hidden behind overgrown hedges and ivy on the southern wall. At this time of year the hedge was far from fully grown so it only took the bending of a couple of branches to give her access to a door, one that had been in poor repair years past.
Now it was so rotten it nearly fell apart as she pulled at the rusty ring handle, the outer frame getting stuck on the roots of a nearby tree, though not enough to prevent her creating a gap through which she could squeeze. The next-door field was ploughed, which meant muddy ankle boots and that had to be borne.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was a contemplative Henry Tulkington who sat by the fire in his study, staring at the flickering flames and seeking an answer to a set of worrying conundrums, one of which was how to deal with his being robbed, while still lacking any solid information. If it was Spafford, that had to be put to one side, for the most pressing problem centred on Elisabeth and her infatuation with Brazier. It was obvious he would struggle to control her, but could he contemplate within the family a serving naval officer, especially one who was known to be upright in pursuit of his duties? If he had interdicted smuggling from the newly formed United States, he would scarce accept it here in England.
Had he been an impecunious naval officer, it might have been less of a worry; his putative brother-in-law had the means to ease his purse, while any man who took such gifts and became accustomed to them would scarce wish to see them curtailed. Yet not only was Brazier well heeled it seemed, but in marriage he would gain control of Elisabeth’s property. Thus the means to suborn any principles he might possess was severely restricted.
It was too risky to just let matters take their own course, but barring Elisabeth from leaving Cottington could only be a temporary measure; if they were not an overly social family, him especially, there were still attendances that could not be avoided, Sunday worship being just one at which the whole family was expected to show − and if the Reverend Moyle had no control of his consumption of alcohol, he could hardly fail to remark on the lack of a showing by his sister.
His mind turned, as hers had done, towards the prospect of declaring her mentally unfit enough to justify confinement, given he was sure he could find a medical man amongst his Freemason fraternity who would do his bidding. But such a declaration would be too easy to challenge and the same fellow who presented the problem would be sure to do so, no doubt, in a ver
y public and noisy manner.
Henry Tulkington had business interests outside the running of contraband and he was determined that they should not be exposed to public gaze, especially the activities of John Hawker. When his factotum collected monies due to the government on taxable goods, every legitimate penny raised was paid over to the Exchequer by Tulkington, though he took a percentage as profit. But a proportion of what was sold in the various outlets was smuggled goods, so the man collecting their taxes was the same fellow who said what was available in revenue-free contraband.
Those who declined what Hawker could provide were well aware he could call on a strong band of hard bargains to do his bidding – it was no secret in the Lower Town. His pitch was simple. If you decline to sell run goods, pay a regular fee to ensure your business prospers and no harm can be done to you, for I will ensure that is so. Refuse, and you are at the mercy of every villain in town.
Few had the ability to stand up to him and it was not just the implied threat of property or trade ruined. There were the rumours of other things Hawker had done to those who crossed him, which were enough to include terror in some and compliance in many. By such means Henry Tulkington kept a grip on the trade of Lower Town, his name never openly mentioned, but his influence acknowledged, even if only in whispers.
Hawker and the others who worked for him were rewarded from the extracted income, without the need to touch other sources. Much of these, because of their illegal provenance, needed to be discreetly hidden away and quietly invested, bar a certain amount disbursed to buy the goods he required from his suppliers in France.
That exchange was not done in carried guineas, as Spafford in his luggers was obliged to carry, with all the attendant risks of being apprehended in possession of money that could only be for one purpose. It was and had been, since Tulkington Senior’s time, facilitated by seemingly normal transfers through Jewish banking intermediaries, via a reputable enterprise based in the City of London run by his father’s illegitimate half-brother.
Frustration at the lack of a firm conclusion to the problem of Elisabeth took him from a seat by the fire to his desk, so he could distract himself by turning to other opportunities. He was in the process of seeking to buy the last mill he did not already own in the area, sat on a hill near the hamlet of Northbourne, driven by both the stream of that name, as well as the wind. Achieved, he would have a monopoly on locally milled flour, and so be able to supply the bakery he already owned.
With the supply of meat also under his control, he could then sell his products at any price he chose, the main customers to be fleeced not the locals but the merchant vessels using the Downs. No ship could sail for foreign parts without it had the requisite supplies of salted meat in the barrel as well as ship’s biscuit, and they would be obliged to pay what was asked.
If a national war and the convoys came again, the income from that would be huge. The fellow who owned the Northbourne mill, who had been in this very room two days previously, was disinclined to sell, even when Tulkington had considerably upped his offer, to still be rebuffed. Was it time that the man got a visit from Hawker – and would that work, for he was a stupidly stubborn cove? There was another solution, of course: the employment of torches to burn him out.
‘Henry,’ his aunt said from a flung-open door, to take his mind off such ruminations. ‘I have been looking all over for Elisabeth.’
There was no need to add more, given the look on her face, while it was clear she expected her nephew to be alarmed. It threw her when he smiled; rare enough in itself, doubly so now.
‘Fear not, Aunt Sarah, I have given orders she is not to be allowed to leave.’
‘Then I am tempted to ask you where she is. There is no sign of her in the drive.’
‘She likes to walk the grounds of a morning, does she not?’
‘With the dogs, yes, yet they are within the house gates and whining to be let out.’
‘Send a servant down to Tanner to remind him of my instructions.’ There was no smile now. ‘If he has failed in his duty, the only person going out of the gate will be him, at the end of my boot.’
To arrive on foot at the Colpoys house a second time occasioned less surprise than the first. The gate was opened and the servant’s forelock touched in respect, though he could not avoid a glance down at Betsey’s mud-caked footwear, half-covered with good dark-brown loam. She used the boot scraper to get the worst off before ascending the steps to use the polished knocker.
A glance upwards immediately showed three eager faces as the Colpoys’ brats looked to see who had come, but not for long, no doubt called to order by their governess who, apparently, was a demon with the birch and needed to be. A liveried servant opened the door and, knowing well the caller, stepped aside to let Betsey in while announcing his intention to fetch madam from her boudoir and her embroidery.
Betsey was left for much longer than she would have expected, which at least allowed her to remove her still-mud-caked boots, which revealed the bottom of her dress had not escaped the same degree of impairment. When Annabel did finally appear, the servant at her back, there was something discomfiting about the cast of her features. There was certainly no effusive welcome, quite the reverse.
‘Have you come to take away your pony?’
‘Partly that, but I have an even greater boon to ask of you.’
The response should have been as it was the day before, immediately concerned, but it was not.
‘Henry has sought to confine me. The gateman had instructions not to let me leave so I had no choice but to sneak out. It may be that I will have to abandon living at Cottington, which means I must find a place to lay my head, should it come to be necessary.’
‘Abandon?’
‘If I cannot remain there, Annabel.’
Her voice rose to a higher pitch in reply. ‘Such an extreme reaction, merely because of a quarrel with Henry?’
‘I have not yet told you of the seat of our difference.’
Annabel looked down at Betsey’s now stockinged feet, as well as the filthy hem and said in a distant way, ‘No, you have not and I am at a loss to know, as is my husband, who was surprised I did not enquire.’
It was in a slightly terse voice with which Betsey responded. ‘Am I to be invited in, or will I be obliged to explain my reasons in the hallway?’
She meant in front of a servant, who had already heard too much, all of which would soon be gossip below stairs in any number of houses.
‘Take Mrs Langridge’s cloak.’
This being said over her shoulder, Annabel headed for the drawing room and a disrobed Betsey followed, to find her friend stood by the fireplace looking rigid in her posture. There was only one way to shake that, which was by employing a jolt, but first it was essential to close the door so as not to be overheard.
‘Henry objects to the notion I might marry again.’ There was no response and, more tellingly, no invitation to sit, so it was with some trepidation that Betsey continued. ‘I met someone in the Caribbean whom I found to be congenial company and he has followed me to Deal.’
‘Someone?’
‘A naval captain.’
‘And he wishes to marry you?’
‘Henry doesn’t only object to the notion of my marrying, he has taken violently against Captain Brazier, to the point of threatening to bar him from entry to Cottington Court. Also, prior to his latest strictures, he declined to allow me a coach or a horse, which is why I arrived on foot yesterday.’
‘So you wished to borrow a horse to go and see this fellow?’
‘Do I detect a note of disapproval?’
‘I would be bound to say, Elisabeth, that such an action as you undertook borders not only on the rash, but is enough to ruin you if it became public knowledge. A widow running after a prospective lover, forsooth, and with scant discretion.’
‘I think I implied a prospective husband,’ Betsey said, her heart stung by the use of her proper name by such a close frien
d.
‘I fail to see the difference. If you are prepared to throw yourself at this man’s feet, who’s to know what silly acts will follow? Or the ramifications that will flow from them and who they will affect.’
‘What has changed, Annabel? Why are you so very different today, when yesterday you were glad to see me and, as one of my oldest companions, eager to help?’
‘Perhaps, with what you have just told me, I can see that your brother has just cause to seek to restrain you from your own folly.’
‘I came hoping, indeed believing, you would give me temporary shelter if I required it.’
Annabel turned her back and laid a hand on the mantelpiece. ‘Which would make me and this house party to your behaviour.’
‘Is not that what friends are for?’
‘Real friends do not risk the reputation of those they say they hold dear.’
‘I sense my request for shelter is not welcome.’
Back still turned, Annabel replied in a strained voice. ‘I’m sorry, Elisabeth, I cannot in all consciousness oblige you with such a promise.’
Stung, Betsey responded. ‘I trust at least I may retrieve my pony?’
‘Ask the stable lad to get him out for you.’
There was no goodbye from either. Betsey went out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her, and sat on a chair to replace her ankle boots, cursing under her breath as she buttoned them up, while being equally dismayed at the exchange in which she had just engaged. Inside the room Annabel was leaning on the mantelpiece, her head against the hand that rested still on the carved wood; she was weeping. Never a woman to tolerate blaspheming, she was doing so in a vehement whisper now.
‘Damn you, Roger Colpoys, damn you.’
Even if she hated having to do so, Annabel Colpoys was obliged to obey her husband, who had been furious when Betsey left the day before. Any suggestion that an act of his house should cause grief to Henry Tulkington was not to be allowed to occur. Her pleas to be told why not were ignored and, when she pressed, found her threatened with the riding crop.
The Contraband Shore Page 18