Dark Waters

by Robin Blake

  ‘I remember your sister saying something about this when we came here with your father’s body. He used the precise word “tally”, did he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That is very interesting, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Is it?’

  ‘The tally is the collective name for a group of voters who march together to the polling hall under a so-called tally captain. Now your father was correctly informed about Allcroft. He had gathered a tally under himself at Gregson and Hoghton. What is interesting to me is that your father was intending to do the same here.’

  ‘But he didn’t.’

  ‘No, he was not given the chance.’

  ‘He would not have done it anyway.’

  ‘He talked about it.’

  ‘Talking isn’t doing.’

  ‘Had he ever acted as a tally captain before – in the last parliamentary vote, when he was younger?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was a small child.’

  ‘Do you know if he made recent contact with any fellow Tory supporters who might have joined his tally in this election?’

  ‘Cousin Titus, this tally of his was imaginary! I can’t think why you are so interested in it. Are you trying to connect my father’s accident in some way with what happened to Mr Allcroft?’

  ‘Well … I beg you to keep this to yourself, Mary-Ann. Discuss it with Grace, if you like, but no one else, if you please.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Very well, I will tell you. There is a suspicion of poison in John Allcroft’s death. And there is also a suspicion about your father’s drowning. In spite of the jury verdict I now have reason to think there may, I say no more than that, have been someone else with him before he went into the river. And, if so, that same person may – with the same proviso – have meddled with Allcroft’s plate of dinner.’

  Mary-Ann stared, clapping her hands to her cheeks.

  ‘You mean you think our dad was pushed in?’

  ‘No, at this stage I don’t. Only that eventually I may come round to thinking that, when I am further along this road.’

  ‘But who? And why?’

  Before I replied – not that I could reply – hot water was brought in, and Mary-Ann prepared our tea. I took the opportunity to broach the second reason for my visit.

  ‘May I see your register of guests?’

  She sent the serving girl out to get the book. I cleared the cups aside and opened it flat on the table. There was something here that I thought I remembered – or perhaps misremembered. I found the current page and then looked back to the guests of the previous week. I saw the most relevant two entries – about Destercore and his man. And then I looked above at the other names, and there they were, three, as I thought, that I had seen before: Mr Chapman, T. Wilson, Richd. Gornall. I put my finger on the middle name.

  ‘Wilson,’ I said. ‘Tell me now. Is this by chance Thomas Wilson, apothecary, of Church Gate?’

  ‘Yes, Cousin, it would be.’

  ‘Now, that really is interesting.’

  Mary-Ann shook her head.

  ‘Is it? Mr Wilson often stops here on a Sunday night, after he has been at his card party.’

  ‘His card party?’

  ‘Yes, at old Satterthwaite’s. Every so many Sundays they have a game at Satterthwaite’s cottage. Other Sundays it is at Porter’s in town, I believe.’

  ‘When it is at Satterthwaite’s does Wilson always stay here?’

  ‘That’s his custom, because he always misses the last ferry. He’s the worse for drink, most times, so we have a bed ready for him to fall into.’

  ‘What about these other two – Gornall and Chapman? Did they play cards also?’

  ‘No. I don’t know Gornall, except that he’s a farmer in Ribbleton. Chapman’s the chandler at Penwortham. He was riding to Kendal and took a room to get the earliest ferry across.’

  She rang a handbell and the girl reappeared.

  ‘Paula, will you send Toby in?’

  She turned back to me.

  ‘A little business I must deal with.’

  She got up and slid open a drawer in a side table, bringing out a watch.

  ‘My father’s,’ she said, showing it to me. ‘It has not run since it went into the water with him. Grace was to take it this morning but forgot. I am sending it now with Toby to see if it can be mended.’

  I took the watch from her – a good, solid fob of old-fashioned appearance. I squinted at the face to read the maker’s name: Wm. Oldswick, Preston – our own Nicholas’s father.

  ‘He must have had this a few years.’

  ‘He got it when he was twenty-one, so he used to say.’

  ‘Here’s an idea. Don’t trouble Toby with this. Let me take it.’

  So it was agreed but, as I left, another question occurred to me.

  ‘Do you know who were the other regular card players?’

  ‘No. But there must have been others, if they were playing four-handed cribbage. It wouldn’t have made a game with just Satterthwaite, Wilson and Mr Destercore, would it?’

  This brought me up short.

  ‘Mary-Ann, are you saying Destercore was there, at Satterthwaite’s that Sunday night?’

  ‘Oh, yes, didn’t I mention it? Wilson fell into conversation with Mr Destercore here at the inn, when he called earlier to secure his bed. He invited him down to Satterthwaite’s but, being a stranger, Mr Destercore wasn’t what you meant by a regular in the game.’

  * * *

  I trod a thoughtful lane back towards the ferry, with Uncle Egan’s watch in my pocket and a bushel of new information in my head. I had drawn up a mental list of six witnesses whose evidence I thought the Allcroft inquest jury should hear: Mrs Fitzpatrick, her cook and kitchen boy, Luke Fidelis and the Satterthwaites, Isaac and Maggie. Now I considered adding a seventh – Thomas Wilson.

  Having reached the Satterthwaite cottage, I let myself into the garden by the gate. Old Isaac was a considerable gardener. He had a mass of woodland bulbs growing beneath fruit trees that were themselves laden with blossom. It was a warm day and the air felt almost sticky – sweet with scent and the buzz of insects. I knocked on the cottage door, setting off one of the terriers inside, who scrabbled around behind the door, barking. But the old man did not appear. I peeped through the window, and could see the oak table at which the men had presumably played their cards, no doubt while jesting, smoking, drinking and talking politics. Isaac may have been a rat catcher, but he was well travelled and, in his way, a man of discrimination. I guessed it would have been port wine and not porter beer that they drank.

  That Satterthwaite and Wilson were friendly was not a surprise. Both men had returned to Preston after spending long years away, and one was the other’s customer in the supply of rat poison. They also happened to be opinionated supporters of the same political party, though I would have guessed that was not a question of two men thinking just alike, but of an alliance between different temperaments. Satterthwaite’s Whiggism came out of his military past. He had seen more than enough slaughter, rape and mayhem to become chary of military adventuring, perhaps on grounds of pure humanity, or of not liking to see useful lives wasted. Wilson was first and always a businessman, who thought the accumulation of wealth was a man’s main reason for being alive. As I had heard the night before, he supported Walpole’s long peace because he saw the policy as good for trade and stability – and in the end for himself.

  Destercore had sat at that table too, talking politics between hands, gathering news, compiling lists. Who were the other members of the card school? I was already prepared to wager they would not be Tories.

  I made my way back to the ferry and during the crossing questioned Robert Battersby in case he knew anything about these card games, whose players he must have transported to Middleforth from time to time. He told me he couldn’t tell me owt, but perhaps he simply wouldn’t. I had offered him no money and there was a general assumption in town that Battersby’s
habitual surliness had a mercenary origin.

  * * *

  Oldswick put on a pair of spectacles and examined the timepiece.

  ‘This is an old one.’

  ‘It belonged to poor Antony Egan.’

  ‘Did it indeed? Went in the river with him, did it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He opened the back and looked closely around the works, with his eye no more than an inch away. He looked for as long as a minute without making any comment, then snapped the case shut and took off his spectacles.

  ‘There’d not be much problem if it were just water, but it’s not. The case has taken a few knocks and there’s damage inside. I’m surprised the watch glass is intact.’

  ‘Can you make it go again? His daughters are anxious to have it working.’

  ‘Oh, aye, we can make it go. We built the bugger, didn’t we? We’ll rebuild it if we have to, only it won’t be a quick job.’

  ‘What shall I tell them you’ll charge?’

  ‘Let’s say three shillings, maybe three and six. If it looks like being more I can tell ’em by letter.’

  I watched as he wrote out the receipt, and, though I can’t say what association it was that prompted me, I suddenly had the idea.

  ‘You’ll not have much time for the shop, with the election going on.’

  ‘No, it’s madness.’

  It was a very bright idea, or so I thought, and it concerned Destercore’s lists.

  ‘When are you polling, yourself?’

  ‘Eh, they don’t get to Friar Gate till Wednesday afternoon. My tally’s due there at three – not that they’ll keep to the timetable. It could be anytime after that.’

  He handed me the receipt for the watch, and I tucked it into my pocketbook.

  ‘I heard you’re acting as a tally captain.’

  This was my bright idea: I had heard no such thing, but I had to test the theory. Oldswick sighed, as one burdened by responsibilities.

  ‘Oh, aye,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting all my life to do it. In twenty-two it was my old father who acted for this end of Friar Gate, when I was still his apprentice. He died soon after. I never thought I’d have to wait nearly twenty year till my turn came around to captain the tally.’

  A few minutes later I was on my way back to the office. I found my step quickening involuntarily with excitement about what Oldswick had just told me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  AT THE OFFICE I asked Furzey if there had been any word from Dr Fidelis. There had not.

  ‘Do we have a working jury for Wednesday morning?’

  We had.

  ‘And an inquest room at the Gamecock?’

  No, because Mrs Fitzpatrick was being obstructive. Said she was too busy and had no room to spare.

  ‘I’ll talk to her in the morning,’ I said. ‘I may as well give her the witness summons at the same time, and those for the other witnesses from there – Maggie Satterthwaite, the cook Primrose and I think the kitchen boy. His name’s Peterkin. I’ll also be seeking out Isaac Satterthwaite during the day, so will you prepare his summons too?’

  Furzey reached for a printed form and dipped his pen.

  ‘That would be Joseph Primrose?’ he said, with affected weariness.

  ‘Yes.’

  When he had written this he reached for a second form.

  ‘And Mrs Kathleen Fitzpatrick?’

  ‘Yes. And don’t let me hear that tone. You should be grateful that I’m serving these summonses myself, which saves you a lot of effort.’

  ‘I like serving the summonses. They get me out of here.’

  ‘Well, we also need one for Dr Fidelis, which you can take to his address on your way home tonight.’

  Furzey frowned in surprise.

  ‘Are you two not drinking together tonight? It is one of your regular nights.’

  I did not reply, but went into my office and sat at the desk, wishing I were due to meet Fidelis. I wanted to share with him my bright idea. I took the copy of Destercore’s lists from the drawer and opened it out. I went through the names for a few minutes, until Furzey brought in the completed witness summonses to be signed. Without a word he placed the pile of them on top of what I was studying.

  Impatiently I pulled the foolscap sheet out from under the summonses. I couldn’t keep this to myself any longer.

  ‘Look, Furzey, I’ve had an idea about these marks against the names of individual men. The ones that we were talking about earlier on the list you copied. I think I know what they mean.’

  ‘The Tory tally captains?’ said Furzey.

  I almost dropped the paper.

  ‘Furzey! Don’t tell me you already knew the dots were markers for tally captains! Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Furzey shrugged and said, ‘Why didn’t you ask?’

  ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘I knew that some of the names with dots next to them were tally captains, and all on the opposite side of the vote from my own convictions. It is reasonable to infer that they all are.’

  ‘Which ones definitely are?’

  He pointed to half a dozen names, but didn’t want to linger to discuss them.

  ‘I have to go out now,’ he said, retreating towards the outer office. ‘There’s to be a speech by Mr Reynolds.’

  ‘Is Reynolds back on the hustings? I suppose Sir Henry’s absence is the reason.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know that.’

  * * *

  It was not until after I had heard the street door slam behind him that I noticed Furzey had forgotten to pick up Fidelis’s witness summons. Separating it from the others, I wrote a second letter to Fidelis. Having heard nothing from him, I did not want a confrontation, yet he had to be served that summons and I decided to deliver a brief note at the same time:

  Am enclosing with this your summons as witness to the inquest into John Allcroft. Particulars of the place are given. On a matter perhaps related, I believe I have got to the bottom of the ‘marked’ names on a certain Londoner’s list of Preston voters. Would be glad of the opportunity to talk this over.

  Adam Lorris was at home when I called, but he told me Fidelis was not, which I was glad about. Before I saw him I needed some indication that he would be reconciled. So I handed the letter and summons to Lorris, and he assured me Fidelis would have it in his hand as soon as he came in.

  ‘By the way, your book of fables is almost ready,’ Lorris went on. ‘I have found the most exquisite kidskin for it.’

  But I did not want to stand around in the hall discussing Aesop so I said how much I was looking forward to seeing the book, then excused myself and left.

  In our kitchen, I found Matty putting her feet up with her friend, a chatterbox called Dorcas, who was maid to our neighbour Burroughs, the cabinetmaker. Elizabeth had allowed the girls some tea. I had gone in to see if the shoes were ready that I had left for Matty to clean in the morning. While she went to fetch them I helped myself from the teapot and asked if Dorcas had enjoyed all the excitement in town.

  ‘The real fun starts tonight, sir. This far, we’ve only seen the half of it, they do say. There’s big feasts all over town.’

  She was a rosy-cheeked girl with a mop of curly hair, and a pronounced gap between her two front teeth.

  ‘My uncle Charley’s come in from Lytham. He’s not voting. He’s got work for the week at Wilkinson’s pie shop. They’re selling three times the usual pies and he says they’re supplying three feasts tonight. There’s a lot of talk at them feasts, which Uncle Charley says I wouldn’t understand – speeches about ships, and speeches about cider, and speeches about the King of France. Uncle Charley says best put the King of France in a ship with a thousand gallon of cider and let him sail away, so long as folk can still get good food and drink and singing and jokes – specially about Sir Henry Hoghton. You heard the jokes going round about him?’

  ‘No. What jokes are those, Dorcas?’

  She cast her eyes down in a show of modesty.<
br />
  ‘I wouldn’t like to say, sir. Not to you.’

  In the evening I sat in my library reading the new Chaucer and hoping Fidelis would call. By eleven I knew he would not, so I closed The Man of Law’s Tale and went to bed, anticipating a busy Tuesday with an early start. But sleep was almost impossible as Elizabeth and I lay listening to the sounds of election fever disturbing the peace. From time to time a band of revellers swung past below us, yelling their slogans, the light from their flaming torches flickering at the window and around the darkened room. Further away there was an almost continual hubbub. More than once I heard singers make a drunken attempt at Mr Arne’s patriotic song, not very accurately, and not getting far with it.

  I must have dozed because the next thing I knew was Elizabeth sitting upright and giving me a shake.

  ‘Titus! Some fellow is making a speech – from our doorstep!’

  I slipped out of bed and crept to the window, furtively getting between curtain and glass. I could see a rabble of about twenty young men in front of the house, swaying and leaning on each other, some of them holding big flaming brands. They were loosely paying attention to someone who I couldn’t see but who was, evidently, addressing them with his back to our front door.

  ‘I’ll shout down,’ I said. ‘This is intolerable.’

  ‘No, no, Titus, you will do no such thing,’ said Elizabeth, who was now at the other window. ‘They could have those torches through our windows and burn this house in a minute.’

  Immediately she was back under the covers.

  ‘Come into bed, my love,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t even let them see you. Anything might provoke them.’

  ‘It’s all right. They haven’t seen me.’

  But I did as she asked. Back in bed I lay still, trying to make out what their spokesman was saying, and which party the ruffians were supposedly standing behind. For a time this was impossible, so thick was the orator’s tongue with drink. Then a remark came through more clearly, and I caught the meaning: he was lampooning Sir Henry Hoghton.

  ‘What’s Sir Harry need a Walpole for, eh?’ we heard him proclaim. ‘He doesn’t, does he? ’Cause now, we hear, he’s got a great pole of his own!’