‘And Mr Flaherty, I am minded to buy Canasta from you, so please take good care of him, and do not even think of giving him to anyone else.’
‘You should never tell a horse dealer you’re fond of an animal, Mrs Langridge.’
‘Even one as sweet as you?’ Betsey asked, as she mounted the other horse.
‘And here’s me thinking it was I who had the silver tongue.’
Subterfuge was required when Betsey returned home; she had to behave as though she had been satisfied with Henry’s denials, with no mention of Roger Colpoys or her visit to Annabel either, only to find him absent but expected back for dinner. She was determined to get to the bottom of things, though for the life of her Betsey could not begin to see anything untoward that might have been missed.
Cottington Court ran smoothly: visitors came, most of them on business it was true, but no hint of their being under threat had ever been shown. Even an acute eye revealed nothing; Aunt Sarah went about her domestic duties, Henry was on his business affairs, much of which took place out of the house, making it easy to manufacture lurid imaginings of what he might be up to.
The decision to look through his papers was a spontaneous one; she found herself close to his study door when no one was within sight of it to bar her entry. She went swiftly through almost without thinking, closing it behind her. There had been a fire in the grate but it was now more ash than logs, yet the residue in a room with the door and windows closed rendered it still warm.
Going to the desk she saw it was neat, which was Henry’s way − indeed, she could never recall it as untidy. There was a half-burnt candle in a holder, an inkstand with an upright quill, more of those in a narrow tray, as well as a pot of fine sand, but the paper laying on the surface was blank. One top drawer held the detritus of the things Henry required: a bottle of ink, red ribbon to tie documents, wax as well as the seal in a box, both engraved with the initials HT. The opposite drawer held a pile of linen handkerchiefs, beside them a series of bottles, no doubt containing the questionable potions with which Henry unnecessarily dosed himself.
The central drawer was locked, and that applied to the other four, which had her looking about the room and the numerous ledgers that lined the shelves of a large glass-fronted cabinet. Taking one out, she opened it to examine a list of figures, soon realising they related to the domestic expenditure of the house, so it was quickly returned. Given the quantity of the whole – there were dozens of ledgers – Betsey knew she would require a great deal of luck to find anything that hinted at information Henry would not wish to share.
The door to a corner cupboard she knew to be permanently locked, for that had been home to a safe since her father occupied this room, so she did not even try a pull at the handle. The thought that she was being foolish surfaced; it would take days to go through everything she could open and that did not include the desk or the safe, even if she could open the locked door. It was also obvious that if Henry had anything to hide, he would not leave around paperwork that anyone could see, so she made for the door to exit, closing it with care behind her.
‘Elisabeth?’
‘Henry, I was just looking for you.’ Startled for the second time that day, it was her propensity to blush that made her exclamation, to her brother, somewhat unconvincing. That said, outside those slightly reddened cheeks he had to admire her quickly restored composure. ‘I wanted to apologise to you.’
‘For what?’
‘I fear I was foolish to query you on matters that, on reflection, no one with sense would attribute to you.’
‘I must own I am curious as to where such fantasies came from.’
‘While I would be too embarrassed to say. It would please me if you did not enquire.’
Henry Tulkington was thinking that for all the bravura he did not believe a word of it and, if that was the case, she had certainly not been in his study looking for him. Even the silent way she had shut the door gave the lie to that. So what was it she was looking for – not that anything could be found without she had a crow bar to break open the desk drawers? At that thought, a hand went in an automatic gesture to his waistcoat pocket, to check he had the desk keys.
‘Well, you have found me now, sister, and please do not trouble yourself for anything you said earlier. Given I knew it to be nonsense, my only concern was that you were being misled. Were you, like me, engaged in several businesses and prospering, you would know that idle and jealous minds seek ways to denigrate and diminish success.’
The smile on Betsey’s face felt like a grimace, so fixed was it, and she wondered if Henry had noticed, as his hand went to his waistcoat, that her eye had, for a fraction of a second, followed it, for it was a movement that sent to her a message. He did not believe her, which could include her apologies for being in his study uninvited. Asked to explain, it would have been hard; it was a gut feeling, not a certainty. Nor was she fooled by the benevolent expression on Henry’s face.
‘Then all is as it should be,’ she exclaimed.
‘I had a letter from Uncle Dirley this morning.’
‘Did you?’ came with another slight blush.
‘You have definitely decided to sell up in the West Indies?’
‘It is far from decided, Henry,’ was delivered with something of a manufactured laugh. What was Dirley doing telling him something that was none of his business? ‘I merely want to get some idea of what they would fetch.’
His hands, palms open, came away from his side in a gesture of enquiry. ‘What are we doing standing here in the hallway, Elisabeth, talking of sugar plantations like a pair of strangers? Do you wish to come into my study and discuss the matter there?’
‘Not at this moment, Henry. I have things to attend to and, I suspect, you do too.’
‘Then I will see you at dinner.’
As she nodded and passed him, Betsey felt it necessary to brush his arm with her hand, which she hoped would be taken as a gesture of affection: it was anything but and, by the time she had got to her suite of rooms, her feelings had turned to concern. If Annabel was right, and Edward too, and mischief was in the air, there was no telling what Henry would do.
He was sat in his study thinking that matters were coming to a head in both the problems he faced, and as of now Spafford seemed the one more likely to be resolved. Elisabeth could only have been seeking something incriminating in his study, as if he would leave anything to be found. She must think him a fool. Such thoughts played on his mind and, once more, he imagined himself the dispenser of justice, not just for his sister but Brazier too.
A whipping seemed not to be enough and the thought occurred he might have to dispose of them both. He could recall the way Elisabeth, as a young girl, had teased him, which he had hated but could do nothing about. She was the parental favourite, always indulged when he was often chastised for seeming trifles. It would go too far to say he hated her, but there was an absence of familial love. At this moment she presented a threat and one it would be wise to deal with.
It was a pleasant diversion to speculate on a solution that would have to be impossible to prove, and on how it could be achieved, this interrupted by a servant bringing him a note just delivered at the main gate. The superscription read JH, which showed Hawker to be sound in the matter of discretion, while the contents told him the meeting with Spafford was arranged for noon the next day. There was a question too, politely posed, asking what was planned if he did not show?’
‘We have his boy, John, his Achilles heel,’ Henry said out loud, before going to the fireplace to find the last bit of glaring red in the ash, the edge of Hawker’s note set to it until the paper began to burn. That was held until the flame had consumed most of it, the residue then dropped into the grate.
Given what he had been cogitating on prior to its arrival, there occurred another thought that tickled his fancy. What if Spafford could be persuaded to take care of both Brazier and his sister? It was a bit of make-believe, disturbed by the gong soundin
g to say dinner was ready. This rendered it necessary for Henry Tulkington to compose himself, so nothing of his imaginings should be apparent. He looked forward to being very nice to Elisabeth.
Daniel Spafford knew he had no choice but to comply, and nor could he contemplate what had been his first thought: that he should take along a knife and threaten to cut Tulkington’s gizzard unless Harry was returned safe and sound. It would not wash: Hawker had checked he was unarmed before and he would do so again.
Those who would escort him were within the farmhouse, but creeping around whispering to each other. Even Daisy was keeping a distance and it took no great wit to surmise what they were all thinking on. Would the man who led them sell all down the river for that useless turd of a son?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The message from Betsey was a request to meet her tomorrow, just as he had done previously, nothing more. Did that imply forgiveness or the very opposite? There was no way to tell, so it was a morose Edward Brazier who spent the rest of the day back in the state of flux in which he had arrived in Deal. He occupied himself by writing to his prize agent, instructing him to set up a regular payment to Dutchy’s dependants via the Quay Inn. Logan and Palmer had claimed to have no one who needed support and were happy to take his money and spend it in the nearest taverns.
After a restless night, Brazier set off alone for Cottington, requiring his boat cloak for, if it was not raining with the lowering skies, it threatened to do so. A gale of wind was blowing in from the north-east to whip up the sea, and the garment kept out the worst of the chill. He risked solitude in case the result was bad; he had no desire, in the face of his barge crewmen, to suffer a repeat of the day before.
At the house Betsey was suffering from impatience. She had taken breakfast in her room to avoid Henry. Now she could not go out as his carriage was in the drive, horses hitched and only waiting for the passenger, who was taking his own sweet time to emerge. There was a rear entrance leading to a lawn, but to reach it required she transverse the hall and that too might cause her to bump into her brother.
Finally Henry emerged, with Betsey stepping backwards in case he looked up to her window. She listened for the sound of the wheels on the gravel, which signified departure. Only when she could see he was halfway down the drive did she don a thick-hooded cloak and make her way downstairs.
‘You’re recovered?’ asked her Aunt Sarah, as she appeared on the half-landing.
‘A mild upset, Aunt, which I think will benefit from some air.’
‘Which I reckon foolish. You should remain indoors, especially with this wind. I hope you do not contemplate the woods, for it’s strong enough to fetch down a tree.’
‘It would be a devilish lack of fortune that I should be there when that happened,’ Betsey snapped, glancing at the hall clock to note she was constrained for time; she wanted to be in place when Edward arrived, if indeed he did so, for there was always a risk that her behaviour yesterday had given him grounds to decline.
‘If God wills it so, it will be so,’ was Sarah Lovell’s mordant opinion.
Outside, she had to give some credence to the possibility; the treetops were now in leaf, if not fully so, and thus the wind was bending the branches, while even the trunks were swaying to nature’s power. The dogs, unconcerned, raced to the side door to get ahead of her, one ear blown over their heads and their coats flattened.
Betsey chose to remind herself that the woods were well managed, with an annual pollarding of branches as well as the cutting down of any tree that looked to be failing, the results burnt in the grates of the house. It was a worrying walk to get to where she needed to be, with the possibility of him not being present, this put to rest as the bushes parted and there he stood; he had come early.
‘I have to ask that you forgive me, Edward.’
‘You spoke with Henry?’
‘To not much purpose, but there was another way and that vouchsafed to me was enough to bring on disquiet, which is why I asked you to come.’
‘I had hoped it was more than that.’
‘Be assured it will be. But I want you to find me accommodation in Deal this very day: either a set of rooms or, if it can be arranged, a house. I cannot say for certain what you implied yesterday is true in all respects, but I can say I will not stay in this house an hour longer than I have to.’
Brazier lifted off his hat. ‘A kiss and I’ll find you a palace. At a pinch, I will move out of Quebec House and gift it to you.’
‘Quebec House I will leave to you but the kiss, Edward, I will willingly grant you.’
It was a proper one: a passionate and lingering meeting of lips and tongues of the kind Betsey had not experienced since Stephen Langridge fell ill. Then, arm in arm, they walked under the swaying branches and hissing trees, laying plans as to how he would get her away from Cottington Court without the knowledge of her brother. He would be bound to try to dissuade her and might even attempt to prevent it.
‘I will come tonight before dusk, with my men. It will have to be a horse, which means you can carry very little.’
‘Fetch the pony I had from Flaherty.’ She clutched his arm tight. ‘And I shall not concern myself for possessions, for I look forward to possessing all that I need for happiness.’
It seemed an inauspicious day to meet at the chosen location, which was treeless and thus provided no shelter at all from the gale of wind. The seascape, easily visible from this elevation, was a dark grey mixed with a mass of white crests, as the North Sea drove into the anchorage to batter and reshape the shingle.
This was weather the kind of which could have the merchant ships in the roadstead dragging their anchors, so the boatmen of Deal would be wondering if that other source of income was about to be gifted to them: the cargoes of vessels driven ashore or out onto the Goodwin Sands, on which they would be stuck fast and begin to break up, this before being sucked down into perdition.
Henry Tulkington could see the meeting coach swaying to and fro, beside it – and using what little lee it provided – John Hawker and Jaleel Potter, hanging onto their hats and communing over the final arrangements. At a wave Tulkington stepped out of his coach, to be immediately buffeted so hard he staggered. He was thus in a far-from-benign mood by the time he made his destination.
Spafford was already seated and waiting, his face set in a look he probably hoped would convince Tulkington of his intention to drive a hard bargain. If he had not been so discomfited by the weather, his opponent would have been amused; the man had no cards to play.
‘Have you fetched along my boy?’
‘I reckon him safer where he is, but I’m curious, Spafford. What will you pay to get him back?’
‘There’s no need for me to pay. Not even you are crazy enough to let him be harmed. Where he is and what might happen to him is the talk of the town and if’n you think to get Hawker doin’ the dirty, ask yourself this: will he swing for you. ’Cause that’ll be the price.’
‘You were a fool to rob me, Spafford.’
‘It was a joy, you not knowin’ it were me.’
Tulkington produced a thin and humourless smile. ‘I knew all along. It was John Hawker who was left to wonder.’
It was with narrowed eyes that Spafford responded. ‘You didn’t tell him what passed a’ tween us?’
‘Recall you asked me not to.’
‘While never having any belief you’d abide by your word.’
Now Tulkington was amused. ‘You must cease to judge everyone by your own low standards. Now, about your Harry. What you filched was never going to get you to a sum of a size to maintain him.’
‘It were designed to bring you to this.’
‘It strikes me Harry would require a small fortune given his propensity to spend.’ Spafford sat stony-faced. ‘You do not acknowledge what is plainly true.’
‘I’m wondering where this is leading.’
‘Does your offer of an alliance still hold?’
‘It might.�
��
‘Well, let me tell you it will never happen. What you represent to me, Spafford, is irritation, not the rivalry you imagine. You are allowed to trade for the simple reason that ridding myself of you is a game not worth the indulgence.’
‘You make it sound easy, but—’
A peremptory held-up hand added to a fierce look stopped Spafford. ‘You made one correct guess. That I would go out of my way not to enter into a conflict in order to rid myself of you. So I am going to make you an offer, or should I say, accept your previous offer. If I cannot get rid of you, I must seek to control you.’
‘You ain’t enquired about the state of my well-being?’
‘Only because it’s a matter of utter indifference to me. If you die, you die. You will from now on work to my instructions and they may well be imparted to you by John Hawker. What I can guarantee, and you must pass this on to your men, is that all will prosper.’
‘My boy?’
‘What an unfortunate ball and chain he is to you. In order that I know you have accepted my terms, come to Cottington Court by six of the clock and come alone. Harry will be there. If you do not come, I will take it as a refusal and so will not swear to his having a future.’
‘Take orders from John Hawker?’
‘From what you tell me about the Grim Reaper, it will not be for long.’
Making to leave, Tulkington was stopped by Spafford’s voice. ‘You seem damn sure of yourself.’
‘The benefit of being in a strong position, while dealing with one who is so weak he has nothing with which to trade.’
The Contraband Shore Page 29