‘Your word of honour,’ she repeated. Then, straight-backed and quivering with anger, she walked after the two ladies.
20
John the Baptist
They drove the twelve long miles back through the rain to St Mary in the Marsh. Shocked and exhausted, Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper said nothing, and Mrs Chaytor could not bring herself to speak.
But as the gig stopped outside the ladies’ tumbledown cottage, the full enormity of what had happened slammed home. The two frail women clung to each other. ‘Oh, Rosie!’ cried Miss Roper. ‘What shall we do? We shall lose our lovely home; our sanctuary! We shall lose everything!’
Somehow, Mrs Chaytor got them inside. Kate, the housemaid, frightened and uncomprehending, stood staring at them. Miss Roper’s despair turned to shame as she realised her loss of self-control. ‘I am sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I am so sorry. I am a foolish, witless old woman, and I am troubling you all. I am sorry, Mrs Chaytor.’
‘Hush,’ said Amelia, her heart breaking. To Miss Godfrey, who was white and shivering, she said, ‘You must both get into some dry clothes. Have you any laudanum?’
‘A little.’ Miss Godfrey went to fetch it and Amelia looked at the girl. ‘Kate, build up the fire. Good and hot.’
‘Ma’am, whatever has happened?’
‘A betrayal,’ said Mrs Chaytor grimly. ‘The fire, my girl. Quick, now.’
The laudanum did its work; within a few minutes Miss Roper was quiet and drowsy. They eased off her rain-sodden outer clothes and wrapped her in blankets. Miss Godfrey sat before the fire holding the other woman in her arms, kissing her grey hair from time to time. ‘What shall we do?’ she asked Mrs Chaytor softly.
‘Wait,’ said Mrs Chaytor. Sorrow was turning back into fury. ‘They will not get away with this.’
In the grip of a magnificent rage, she stalked outside and drove her carriage up the rainy street to the rectory. Hardcastle looked up startled as she entered his study.
‘There is a run on the bank,’ she said.
‘I know. I was in Ashford today, and heard about it there. And Bessie Luckhurst has just been to see me, in a panic.’ Her father was up in Hythe with Joshua Stemp, watching for Noakes and his companions.
‘I have just left Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper in utter despair. Their entire world has been shattered. What are we going to do, Marcus?’ she demanded.
‘Read this,’ he said, and pushed a paper across the desk to her. ‘I wrote it after Bessie left. I am now debating with myself whether to send it.’
THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT
22nd of September, 1797
By express
Mr James Martin, Sir,
I write to you in your capacity as senior partner of the esteemed bank Martin, Stone and Foote. You have for a number of years acted as the City representative of a country bank, the East Weald and Ashford. In particular, one of your junior partners, Mr George Stone, has negotiated a number of bills of exchange coming from Germany on behalf of the East Weald and Ashford, to the value of many tens of thousands of pounds. Your bank will have earned a commission on each of these bills, and you have profited from these transactions.
I have to inform you that these bills represent money dishonestly and immorally earned, through the illegal export of gold from this country. Not only is this in violation of the Restriction Act, but I also have evidence that this gold has gone straight into the coffers of the French Directory. In other words, Mr Martin, the East Weald and Ashford Bank has been helping to arm our enemies, and you have been a party to this.
Whether you were aware, whether you were a witting or unwitting party to treason, I do not care. Nor will the law. You will be deemed an accessory, and will be punished accordingly. I am told your bank sets great store by its reputation for honesty and probity. That reputation will lie in ruins – if this information is made public.
If you do not wish this to happen, then you must take action. The East Weald and Ashford is about to go bankrupt. You must intervene, and see to it that the bank survives. If you do so, then I will do my utmost to see that your reputation is protected.
There is not a great deal of time. I urge you to make up your mind quickly. I remain,
Yr very obedient servant
REV. M. A. HARDCASTLE, JP
‘Strewth!’ said Mrs Chaytor, startled out of her anger. ‘You’re blackmailing the Grasshopper!’
‘Do you think I should send this?’
‘Certainly you should. And I apologise most sincerely for berating you.’
‘Are the ladies deeply distressed?’
‘They are devastated, the poor dears. They’ve already aged years since this crisis began. This could finish them.’
‘I know.’ The rector rubbed his forehead. ‘They won’t be the only ones who suffer either. I think of the splendid charity of our village, feeding and clothing the refugees. Soon, some will not even be able to feed themselves. Those reckless, criminal fools have condemned a generation of our people to poverty.’
‘Then send the letter,’ said Mrs Chaytor, and there was iron in her voice. ‘And let them know St Mary in the Marsh will not go down without a fight.’
He smiled at her and reached for the sealing wax. ‘I went to Ashford to see Batist,’ he said as he waited for the wax to melt.
‘Did you find him?’
‘No.’ He sealed the letter and turned to face her. ‘The run had begun there, too, and people were clamouring to withdraw their money. Batist is away, and the other clerks were in a state of panic. They did not know where he went or when he would be back. I then called on Mr Batist senior, who says his son went down to Hythe a week ago. He is a worried man. I think he believes his son is in trouble because of the bank.’
‘Can you ask Joshua to look for Batist in Hythe?’
‘I was about to do so when Bessie called. He and Hoad and the others will have a lot on their plate, searching for Batist, hunting for Noakes and intercepting Jean . . . What is it?’
Mrs Chaytor had stiffened in her chair, her hands suddenly clenched. ‘Biblical nicknames,’ she said. ‘The Twelve Apostles have always been fond of them. You said Jean worked for them, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said the rector. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Jean. Batist, which is a corruption of Baptiste. Jean-Baptiste, John the Baptist. I will wager anything you care to name that Batist the bank clerk and Jean the courier are the same person.’
‘Of course! Great heaven; as a churchman, I of all people should have seen this. It makes sense. Batist knows the details of the gold shipments, and goes across to negotiate with Vandamme. And Matthew confirmed Jean has connections in France. Oh, I cannot believe how blind I have been!’
‘So much for the quiet, self-effacing clerk,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘What will you do?’
‘According to Matthew, Jean is due to return from France tomorrow. I shall go up to Hythe tomorrow to join Joshua, and we shall intercept him. Look after Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper while I am away, and will you also call on the refugees and see that they have all they need?’
‘Of course.’
*
It was the 23rd of September, and the wind whistling across the Marsh carried with it the sour taste of autumn. Dusk fell early under a chilly blanket of cloud. As darkness gathered, a small rowing boat moved into the haven of Hythe, passing a row of fishing boats. The boat eased up onto the beach and the man inside stepped out, easing limbs cramped by a long row from the ship that had dropped him off out at sea. Still a little stiff, he walked through the narrow, cobbled streets of Hythe.
He came to the Swan, where lamplight gleamed through greasy windows, shedding little pools of light into the street. The man, quiet-faced and slender, watched the street for a while; then, satisfied he was not being followed, he pushed open the door of the Swan and went inside.
The only people in the common room were Manningham the landlord, and another, smaller man with a smallpox-mark
ed face, drinking gin and water. As the door closed, this man turned and drew a pistol from his belt. ‘Jean,’ he said. ‘Welcome home, mon ami.’
The bank clerk was fast on his feet. He turned while Stemp was still speaking and pulled the door open again. A shadow filled the doorway; another man, this one squarely built with a heavy stick in his hand. Before the first man could move, the stick came up like a striking snake and pointed at his throat, the ferrule resting just under his chin.
‘Mr Batist,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I must speak with you.’
Slowly Batist edged backwards and Hardcastle walked into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Stemp was behind Batist now, still holding the pistol. ‘Let us speak privately,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Mr Manningham, may we use your parlour room?’
Manningham gestured to a door. The three of them moved into the parlour, Hardcastle picking up a candlestick and then closing the door behind them. ‘Sit down,’ he said to Batist.
Batist sat. Stemp came to stand beside him, a heavy hand on his shoulder keeping him pinned in the chair, the pistol still levelled at his head. ‘You know who we are, and why we are here,’ said Hardcastle.
‘I have no notion what you are talking about,’ said Batist. His face was completely still, but his eyes flickered from one man to the other, around the small room and back again.
‘If I were to search you now,’ said Hardcastle, ‘I would find two things. First, a receipt from Monsieur Vandamme of Boulogne for 5,720 ounces of gold sold to him by the East Weald and Ashford Bank and delivered four days ago, the 19th of September. Second, a message in code which I suspect comes from Peter, the leader of the Twelve Apostles, to be delivered to Matthew, his lieutenant in this country.’
Batist’s composure cracked. He stared, panic suffusing his face. ‘How in the name of all that is holy do you know about that?’
‘Matthew now knows about the gold smuggling,’ the rector continued. ‘He knows too that you have been selling gold to our enemies. He regards you as a traitor. If he finds you, he will kill you. No arrest, no formality of a trial, just a pistol ball in the head or a knife in the back. You are a dead man, Batist, unless you cooperate with me. I can restrain Matthew, but in return, you must answer my questions.’
Batist’s eyes flickered round the room again. There was only one window, small and high, and Hardcastle was between him and the door. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘What happened to Hector Munro? Who killed him, and why?’
‘I don’t know. I swear to God I don’t.’
Hardcastle studied Batist for a moment. ‘Mediumheight, slender, well spoken. What do you think, Joshua?’
‘Could be, reverend.’
‘Mr Batist, on the afternoon of the 10th tenth of August, did you go to New Romney and hire a boat from a man named Jem Clay?’
‘No,’ said Batist.
Hardcastle nodded. ‘So if we brought Mr Clay into the room now, he would not identify you as the man who rented his boat?’
Batist’s shoulders slumped. ‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘Yes.’
‘And did you also come here to the Swan and meet Mr Munro?’
‘Yes. It was I who suggested this as a meeting place. I knew Manningham would be discreet.’
‘You know Manningham?’ Stemp demanded. ‘He claimed he didn’t recognise you.’
Batist spread his hands. ‘Like I said, Manningham is discreet.’
Hardcastle was still staring at Batist, his eyes boring into the clerk’s face. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Batist swallowed. ‘At the beginning of August, Mr Munro came back from a meeting with Mr Faversham. He was angry about something to do with the gold. He said he had to go across to France and fix things, and asked me to help him. We arranged that I would travel down separately and hire a boat for him. A ship would be waiting for him; I don’t know how he arranged that. I was to row him out to the ship, and bring the boat back as if nothing had happened.’
‘But the plan changed. Why?’
‘I don’t know. At the last minute, he said he would row himself out to the ship. He’d let the boat drift, he said, and someone was bound to find it and take it back to its owner.’
Batist’s hands twisted in his lap. ‘I should have insisted. Had I gone with him, I might have been able to save him.’
‘Save him?’ said Hardcastle, eyes unblinking. ‘From whom?’
‘From the men who killed him. I might have been able to intervene.’
‘So you know who killed him.’
Batist did not trust himself to speak. He nodded, his eyes miserable.
‘Why was Munro going to France? To see Vandamme? Was this in connection with the fraud?’
‘Fraud?’ said Batist. He looked even more desperate now. ‘I’ve never heard of any fraud. Mr Munro didn’t tell me. He just said there was a problem with the gold shipments, and he needed to go to France and see Vandamme.’
‘Did he also mention the name of Staphorst?’
‘He . . . he might have done. I don’t remember for certain.’
‘And Cotton?’ asked Hardcastle. ‘He was killed by the same men?’
‘Yes. It was a warning to the rest of us, to keep silent.’
‘A warning from whom? Faversham? Is Faversham defrauding the bank, Batist?’
‘If he is, sir, I don’t know a thing about it.’
‘Or is it you? Are you embezzling, Batist? Are you stealing gold, or the money that comes from the gold?’
‘No,’ said Batist. ‘I swear to God I am not.’
Hardcastle paused, staring down at the other man. Stemp’s pistol moved a little, restlessly, and Batist’s eyes flickered towards it.
‘Who are you afraid of?’ said the rector. ‘You know who the embezzler is, of that I am sure. You know who ordered the murders of Munro and Cotton. Who?’
‘I cannot tell you.’ The fear in Batist’s face was naked and open now.
The rector nodded. ‘Very well. We shall let you go now. Matthew and his men are doubtless waiting for you outside. I hope for your sake the end is swift. But I know from experience that the Twelve Apostles are not fond of traitors. The last one was beaten to death by his fellows.’
‘No!’ Batist pleaded. ‘Please don’t! If I tell you the truth now, I am still a dead man. These others, they will find me and kill me. Either way, you are condemning me to death. For the love of God, reverend!’
‘It would seem there is no alternative,’ said Hardcastle in a voice of stone.
‘No, there is, I promise you. Look, I could tell you everything now, but it would be my word against theirs. And I would never live to stand trial; they would make sure of that. Even if you lock me up in gaol, they will still find a way to get at me. Believe me, I know what these people are capable of, better than anyone.’ Batist squirmed in his chair, on the edge of panic. ‘Let me work for you,’ he pleaded.
‘Work for me? In what capacity?’
‘I can bring you evidence. I know the whereabouts of papers relating to the gold exports. I can bring you proof of how the gold was shipped to Cotton’s mills and packed in gunpowder casks; how it was sent down to Romney Marsh, the times and places where shipments were exported, the names of all the people involved, everything. Let me gather those papers and bring them to you.’
‘How do you know all this? I thought you were merely the courier to Vandamme.’
‘No. You see, the idea of smuggling gold was mine in the first place. I planned the whole thing.’
*
The rector stood for a moment, digesting this. ‘I worked it all out,’ said Batist. ‘I knew gold sold for a premium on the Continent. I already knew Vandamme; my French family have connections with him, and I knew he dealt in gold. I knew too that he was trustworthy.’
‘Was it you who also designed the trail the money would follow? From Boulogne to Amsterdam, then on to Hamburg and back to London?’
‘Yes.’ Batist blinked. ‘How did you k
now about that?’
‘Mr Batist, there is very little about this affair that I do not know. The only missing details are the names of the men who killed Munro and Cotton. You claim to be able to provide proof of the gold smuggling. But I also want the murderers. Who gave the orders to kill them, and who pulled the trigger? Can you tell me that?’
‘Noakes killed them,’ said Batist.
‘Both of them?’
‘Mr Munro certainly, and I think Mr Cotton.’
‘On whose orders? Who pays Noakes?’
Batist shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s as I said. If I tell you now, I am a dead man. Let me go and I will bring you the proof; then you can arrest them immediately, and I can get away. But I want something in exchange.’
‘What is it?’
‘Complete immunity. No charges will be brought against me. As soon as I hand over the papers, I will disappear. You will never see me or hear from me again. I intend to get as far away as possible, so they cannot follow me.’
‘We can help you do that,’ said the rector.
‘No. I don’t want any government spies tracking me, or that bastard Matthew coming after me. I intend to vanish without a trace.’
‘Of course,’ said Stemp, ‘if we let you go now, you might vanish anyway.’
‘Look,’ said Batist desperately, ‘you must believe me. I want out of this whole devilish enterprise. I never dreamed of any of this when I started. My only purpose was to help the bank. I hoped that by doing the bank a service, my worth would be recognised. Mr Faversham and Mr Munro might see fit to make me a partner. That was the summit of my ambitions. Now it has all gone horribly wrong. Men are being killed, there is threat and danger everywhere. I cannot sleep at night. Every time there is a knock at the door, I think they might be coming for me. Let me work for you. It’s the only way this hell will ever reach an end.’
For the first time, Hardcastle raised his eyes and looked at Stemp. ‘I don’t know if we can trust him,’ the rector said.
‘Manningham,’ said Batist. ‘He’ll vouch for me. We’re kinfolk, blood relations. He’ll know you can trust me.’
The Body in the Boat Page 28