by Allan Frost
‘Best make a start, then, sir,’ he grumbled, picking up the nearest cask and hoisting it onto his shoulder.
‘Don’t rush it!’ instructed Catesby. ‘And don’t drop them. There’s a lot at stake here and I can’t afford to damage the . . . goods,’ he added with a meaningful nod and a wink.
Augustus watched while Jake opened the flaps at the rear of the wagon with his spare hand and gently placed the cask inside. He returned to pick up another. Just as he was about to lift it onto his shoulder, his fingers slipped on the metal rim. The cask dropped onto the stone floor and rolled along the ground until it came to rest against the wall.
Augustus, expecting to hear the roar of Catesby’s voice, looked around, mystified. Catesby was nowhere to be seen. Jake picked the cask up and took it to the wagon. Augustus followed. He was surprised to see Catesby crouching behind the wall with his fingers firmly wedged into his ears. He tapped him on the shoulders.
‘Is everything all right, Catesby?’ he asked.
‘Fine, fine,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘Every now and then I get such a pain in my ears. I’m fine, don’t worry. Shall we retire to The Anchor?’
Augustus helped Elizabeth down from the wagon. They followed Catesby along the quayside and into the inn. It was as if they’d unwittingly entered one of Dante’s circles in Hell. Augustus held the hilt of his sword at the ready, just in case.
The sweet scent of stale beer mingled with thick clouds issuing forth from a log fire whose blocked chimney seemed incapable of functioning normally. Cakes of solidified vomit had been deposited at random in odd corners of the room and displayed all the signs of having lain there undisturbed for several weeks.
There appeared to be more moaning and groaning drunks strewn across the straw-lined floor than sat at the few rickety tables and benches. The straw itself did little to soak up gallons of spilt ale or several dried pools of blood.
A dishevelled, writhing couple, both the worse for drink, conducted themselves in a way normally associated with the private surroundings of a bedroom rather than the public room of an alehouse, although no one batted an eyelid or showed any sign of interest.
Nearby, an old man slumped against a wall was engaged in a lively, slurred conversation with the froth inside his quart-sized pewter mug. Another, younger, man whose ragged clothes had seen better days, watched him closely while stroking a rat. Behind him, two men with crossed eyes sat on stools near the fire; they were having an animated discussion, not between themselves but with anyone who cared to listen.
‘Landlord! A private room, if you please!’ yelled Catesby above the general hubbub.
A bald-headed man with sanguine cheeks and a belly the size of a hogshead cask emerged from behind the bar. He took one look of suppressed amazement at such distinguished guests before kicking two or three regulars out of the way.
‘In here, my Lords and Lady,’ he said, pulling aside a piece of sacking nailed above a doorway. Beyond was a small room lit by an equally small window with even smaller stools and a round table. ‘And what is your pleasure?’
‘Ale for me,’ said Catesby.
‘And the same for myself and my wife. In clean tankards,’ ordered Augustus.
The landlord let the sacking close behind him as he left. Elizabeth almost burst out laughing when she heard his muffled voice call out: ‘My friends, we have important visitors, so keep the bloody noise down and your fucking language moderate! And you two in the corner, stop that! There’s a lady present!’
He returned a few moments later with three foaming tankards.
‘Want anything else? Food?’
‘That will be all, my good man,’ said Catesby, handing over a few copper coins. ‘And make sure we’re not disturbed.’
The landlord nodded and disappeared through the sacking. Catesby saw the look on Elizabeth’s face.
‘Apologies for bringing you to such an awful place,’ he said. ‘You can’t be too careful.’
Augustus thought Catesby seemed suddenly more relaxed.
‘Why would we need to be more careful?’ he asked.
‘The consignment,’ replied Catesby, leaning forward as if to share a confidence.
‘Yes, what is it?’ enquired Elizabeth.
‘Rare spices,’ he said, after a few moments deliberation. Elizabeth didn’t believe him.
‘Spices? But why all the secrecy?’
Again, Catesby paused for a while before answering.
‘They’ve come from the far West, taken from a captured Spanish galleon. They’re a new type of spice mixture, never seen or heard of in Europe before. Worth a fortune!’
Elizabeth formed the distinct opinion that Catesby was lying. She didn’t know why she should think so but his behaviour had been more than strange ever since they’d met him less than half an hour earlier. She shot a quick glance, unseen by Catesby, at Augustus.
Her husband, lovely as he was, didn’t have much experience when it came to dealing with people or judging them by their actions and mannerisms. He was quite an innocent, all things considered.
No, Catesby was hiding something. But what?
‘Did Augustus’s father William know this?’ she asked.
‘Of course, my dear.’ His insincere, obsequious manner made her cringe. ‘My own father has contacts, merchants, who are keen to exploit the acquisition of these goods.’
‘Spices, eh?’ observed Augustus, catching up with the conversation. ‘I suppose they’re powder dry and that’s why you were annoyed with Jake for smoking his pipe near them? Could catch fire.’
‘Exactly!’ He seemed a little too keen to agree with Augustus’s comment.
Something definitely wasn’t right. Augustus’s father had died over a month ago and, if Catesby knew about the consignment before then, why had the appointment to pick them up been made so far in advance of their arrival? And why didn’t Catesby arrange his own transport rather than involve the Wiltons?
‘I promised your father I’d pay his expenses and a little more by way of appreciation,’ said Catesby. ‘One hundred gold crowns.’
‘One hundred crowns!’ exclaimed Elizabeth. ‘Good heavens! You must indeed be expecting a large profit. I had no idea spice sales could be so lucrative!’
‘These are special,’ he replied quickly. A little too quickly. ‘A small packet will fetch one or two crowns, that is why we must guard the casks so closely.’
He downed the remains of his ale in one go. Augustus followed his example. Elizabeth, familiar with the smell of sour ale, replaced her tankard on the table without partaking, even though her mouth felt dry.
‘It would be best if Jake escorted you back to The Ship and guarded the wagon overnight. It’ll be too late for you to return to Priorton today.’
How did he know they’d spent the previous night at The Ship Inn?
‘I must ask you to be very careful when transporting the goods. Drive slowly, try not to jostle the casks too much, it could affect the distribution of the mixture.’
What twaddle!
‘You mustn’t mention anything to anyone, and, of course, make sure the casks don’t come anywhere near fire. Do you have anywhere cool and dry to store the casks at home?’
‘The cellar at the Lodge?’
‘That’ll do very well. Send word to me upon your return and I’ll arrange for a good friend to pick them up straight away. His name’s Guy Fawkes. A Yorkshireman. Bit rough round the edges but you can trust him with your life.’
Why would they need to entrust their lives to anyone, let alone Mr Fawkes?
XVII
Robert Catesby gave instructions to Jake to accompany Augustus and Elizabeth back to The Ship Inn. Elizabeth took the reins; she was a much safer driver than Augustus, who, by contrast, was a more accomplished horseman. Jake, apparently, had never been given the opportunity to get involved with horses at all; he made a living of sorts by using his hands and keeping his surly mouth shut.
While Jake remained wi
th the precious wagon safely installed in a sheltered corner of the stableyard, Elizabeth and Augustus spent the rest of the afternoon buying trinkets for their children. By nightfall, they were back in the simple yet adequate comfort of their room. It didn’t pay to venture out into dangerous streets and alleys after dark.
They made their way to the stable after breaking their fast the following bright morning and bade farewell to Jake who, by the look of him, hadn’t had a wink of sleep all night. As if by magic, he produced a bulging leather draw-string purse and handed it to Augustus.
‘Mr Catesby said to give you this,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m off.’
He turned on his heels and walked quickly through the arched entrance to the stable yard before disappearing out of sight. Elizabeth felt certain that someone bearing a close resemblance to Catesby was lurking in the shadows of the alley opposite. She didn’t mention it to Augustus who was already sitting on the driving bench.
‘Have you checked the candles for the lanterns?’ she asked while a servant from the inn placed their bags beneath the seat.
‘Yes, there are plenty. Ready to leave?’
He pulled her up beside him and handed her the reins. With a cluck and a flick, the horses began to haul their load into the busy street.
As with all journeys back home, Augustus’s and Elizabeth’s road seemed endless, slow and more uncomfortable as each mile jostled slowly by. Her attempts to convey her suspicions of Catesby and the valuable contents of their wagon to her husband were met with polite reassurance. Augustus was, whether he knew it or not, quite naive and took everyone and everything at face value.
Elizabeth, because of her experiences at the Priorton Arms, was far more worldly. Augustus would only admit a disliking for Catesby as a person but had no reason to believe the explanation regarding the consignment was untrue. However, Elizabeth drove along at a very steady pace and avoided deep ruts and potholes as much as possible. Unfortunately, this made travelling considerably slower than either of them would have wished.
Their anxiety to return to Priorton and the fact that the novelty of visiting Gloucester, Worcester and Bridgnorth for the first time could not be repeated rendered their journey all the more tedious. Despite being worn out by concentrating on the driving, Elizabeth was unable to sleep at night through anxiety about the contents of the casks inside the wagon, guarded overnight by trustworthy ostlers at successive stopping places.
What if Catesby was involved in something illegal? She and her newly-wed husband might find themselves in a lot of trouble with the authorities. Augustus, enjoying the sleep of the innocent night after night, refused to answer her pleas to open one of the casks to see what was really inside.
She also felt certain they were being followed, closely watched by someone unseen to make sure no harm came to them or the consignment but, in spite of frequent glances behind the wagon, she never saw the same face more than once nor anyone acting suspiciously.
It was probably just as well they had no inkling of what Giles, Augustus’s wayward and impetuous brother, had been up to during their absence. Having ungraciously snatched the large purse from Augustus's begrudging hand shortly before the journey to Bristol began, Giles had promptly sought consolation for this severe downturn in fortune by forming a closer unhelpful relationship with the bottle.
There was nothing he could do to rectify the situation. Years of living in his brother’s shadow and abusing his father’s generosity had turned Giles’s mind into one beset by hatred and vengeance. Augustus now owned everything on the Priorton estate, Giles had nothing. It was not his fault that every penny, dished out willingly by William Wilton to shut him up and keep him away from home for weeks on end, had been squandered. Giles had become accustomed to the easy life of a recalcitrant rake. Why should he have to change his ways just because his miserable father had decided to die?
Mind you, Giles had had one or two nervous moments over the last few years, and not just because Augustus was the Favoured Son and Heir. Augustus had more of their mother’s temperament which Giles regarded as weakness. Augustus was trustworthy and honest, or so Giles been told in no uncertain terms by his patronising and frustrated father during one of their regular abuse-hurling sessions.
Although there were only a few years between the two brothers, William Wilton had treated Augustus better, expecting him to learn how to run the estate as a whole; it was the way his elder brother gained the admiration and respect of their parents that angered Giles more than anything else. Augustus, however, was not the sharpest knife in the drawer; in fact, he believed everything anyone said and wasn’t always able to see when he was being taken advantage of. Nevertheless, he was held up as a shining example to Giles, who would rather have snuffed Augustus’s candle out at the first opportunity.
Giles, on the other hand, had been spoiled by his mother from the time he could walk and talk. Lord and Lady Wilton had no expectations as far as he was concerned and could afford, or so they thought, to let him enjoy life to the full as long as he wished without paying much heed to his prospects after Augustus inherited the estate.
In time, however, it became irrefutably obvious that their leniency had gone too far and Giles’s behaviour was, to all intents and purposes, uncontrollable. He seldom showed any concern for anyone other than himself. Even when his mother lay on her deathbed, his sole concern was whether she had made a bequest in his favour and had been mightily annoyed to discover the answer was a resounding no.
It was because of this unjustified and (in his eyes) embarrassing rebuff that he took a conscious decision to bleed his father of every penny he could before his inevitable demise brought an end to free living and personal enjoyment.
If he could make friends with and show unbridled generosity towards the right people, they’d see he didn’t suffer from lack of funds. He believed that making lavish gifts now would act as a form of insurance which would more than compensate when William’s handouts came to an abrupt end, as they most surely would.
It is often said that a fool and someone else’s money are soon parted. It was a truism Giles should, if he had had any self-respect, have taken to heart. But no. Armed with a surfeit of cash from his late teens onwards, he took it for granted that he should spend it all, plus any extra he could wheedle from his father, on having a Good Time. Life was for living today, not to be wasted on planning for whatever the future held.
Inevitably, someone with few scruples and a total lack of humility was bound to fall in with the wrong crowd. His two best friends were both younger sons of gentlemen living near Wellingley. All displayed the same devil-may-care attitude and, as time went by, sought more and more outlandish and irresponsible ways of finding enjoyment.
Gambling on the outcome of bear baiting and cock fighting bouts brought their own thrills, but there was much more fun to be obtained drinking and wenching in any one of the inns in the area, apart from the Priorton Arms which was too close to his father for comfort.
Fights between this arrogant trio and ignorant farm labourers were frequent, until an innocent bystander was run through with a sword during a fracas.
The three hooligans were lucky to escape prosecution but the friends were forbidden to see Giles or speak to him ever again. In fact, one was forced by his parents to migrate to the colonies to take charge of a sugar plantation; the other took a commission to fight alongside ill-fated Lord Essex in Ireland. Both met horrible ends; the first died of cholera, the second on the battlefield. The hand of God strikes when human justice proves inadequate.
Giles’s miserable, despicable life sailed on, drifting from one escapade to the next, completely out of control like a ship without a rudder. William suffered more and more; money no longer served to keep Giles out of trouble. He constantly found himself making excuses for his son’s antics and became the butt of disrespectful jokes about his inability to control his headstrong son.
Then the cantankerous old sod had had the temerity to die, leaving Giles i
n the lurch, as if to teach him one final lesson. Augustus had inherited everything. It wouldn’t be long before he returned from the mysterious trip to Bristol, by which time he would expect Giles to have left Priorton Hall and, indeed, the area for good.
He still had a few days of freedom left. Giles searched high and low for any spare money left lying around, all to no avail. At least he could find solace in drink; the cellar was more than adequately stocked and a sound beating had persuaded the servant holding the key to let him gain access. But Giles was as successful in holding wine as he had been in holding onto money.
He snapped at the servants, threw food back in their faces and even resorted to whipping them when drunken fits prevented his uttering the familiar torrent of abuse and foul language. He dreaded the day Augustus and that tart from the inn returned home; his brother had told him to clear off before then, but why should he? This was his home as much as Augustus’s; why should he have to leave just because fate had made Augustus the heir and not himself?
After five days of unconstrained inebriation, Giles finally collapsed in a drunken stupor and did not regain consciousness until another day had passed. He awoke with his mind as clear as crystal glass and set about devising a plot to do away with Augustus and inherit Priorton Hall for himself.
But what if Augustus had made a Will? No worries there; Augustus was unmarried and Giles was the only relative alive. If what Augustus had said about fathering two children by Elizabeth was true, it would make no difference. Bastards weren’t permitted to inherit the estates of gentlemen, otherwise most of them would have been broken up and dispersed by now. The Law knew who needed protection most; daughters of the lower classes must not be allowed to benefit from taking advantage of their betters, as Giles suspected Elizabeth had.
Giles idly picked up a handgun; it was one of the last gifts he’d cajoled his father into buying from an itinerant gunsmith who’d arrived at the Hall laden with a handcart’s worth of the very latest developments in weaponry. The gun was a wheel-lock pistol; it had to be primed with gunpowder and its mechanism cocked before a trigger ejected lead shot towards its target.