It would take too long to drag them out of sight, and might leave him blood-stained if he tried to pick the bodies up and dispose of them in the river. Untidy, but one could not have everything in this life.
Henry walked silently away, certain in his own mind that he would have been observed and recognised. There was always someone in the docks, a drunk, a blagger, a street orphan watching hopefully, but they would simply empty the bodies’ pockets and say not a word to the authorities and it would do him no harm to have his name whispered amongst the gangs as a dangerous man. He stopped half a mile away under a lamp in a busier street, quickly inspected himself for splashes, found he was clean and walked a little further in the opposite direction to his house before taking a cab. He was home, changed and eating a well-earned supper by half past eleven.
Two days later he ‘apparently’ bumped into Colcroft in the chop house the bureaucrat used every lunchtime.
“Mr Star! Well-met, sir, please join me.”
Henry sat down, not particularly pleased to take even a light meal in such a place – he had little love for burnt steak.
“How goes the tobacco business, Mr Star?”
Very subtle – Colcroft letting it be known that he was aware of the sources of Henry’s wealth, of the smuggling out of Cuba, without ever having to mention any criminality at all.
“Very well, Mr Colcroft! I do not know if you indulge, sir, but I could easily have a box of cigars sent to your office.”
Less subtle – Henry suggesting an overt bribe that would become known, obliquely at least, to Colcroft’s superior in the office.
They smiled at each other.
“Our acquaintance, Mr Kirton, seems to have come to a not unexpected end, Mr Star – a man who fished in troubled waters, and it would seem, was caught in his own net.”
Henry raised an eyebrow, knew nothing at all.
“Found on the waterfront, Mr Star, shot dead in company with a rather cheap bodyguard – not a wise economy, it appears.”
“Not, perhaps, a great loss to us, Mr Colcroft.”
“None at all, Mr Star! The investigation into his death has already closed, murder by person or persons unknown. I have sent my report to Washington, sir, and have been forced to mention your name, in the most positive fashion I would add. I believe my superiors will be happy to vouch for you if it may become necessary in the future.”
Henry wondered why it might ever become necessary. Was Colonel Miller becoming blown upon, perhaps? Might it be wise to distance himself from the Colonel? Could he afford to?
“What do you hear of the new French settlers across the river, Mr Star? The Presidency of Texas is increasingly troubled, one hears, by the number of foreigners infiltrating the land. Anglos with some money marrying into the big Spanish land grants are a particular worry, but there are various others and all of them more active than the original holders. There are ranches of more than one thousand square miles there, an attraction to any commercially minded man, and a surprising number of them seem to be falling into the hands of the English rather than good American citizens.”
Henry had not heard of this development, but it was hardly surprising.
“Spain and England were allied against France, after all, Mr Colcroft, and America has been the enemy of England, will be the only power opposing Spain on the mainland. The Spanish, I am told, had little love for England, but they have no affection at all for America.”
“Thus, Mr Star, a rapprochement with England would be the course of wisdom for America, you would say? We must have a European ally if we are to be the enemy of Spain.”
“Not, sir, if it would lead to the enforcement of English arrest warrants in the States. I fought at the battle here, a deserter from the English army, and that makes me a traitor as far as England is concerned!”
Colcroft was not au fait with local gossip, had not heard of Henry’s exploits at the battle, tales that had grown with the telling, quite naturally, aided only discreetly by Henry himself.
“A paper testifying to your prior American citizenship would solve that problem, Mr Star, should the need ever arise. For the while, government in Washington would be quite pleased to hear of new trade links with London, the sale of cigars, for example.”
Cuban cigars appearing in London in significant quantities would soon come to Spanish ears and would lead to action to protect the home country’s monopoly: not a wise move for the long term. It was desirable to keep Washington sweet, but he must get out of the trade within a short time of sending his first consignments to London. A meeting with Colonel Miller to warn him that the trade was getting too hot and then look for new ventures, it was not impossible, and in any case he should seek respectability soon.
Henry sat at his writing desk, penning a carefully worded letter to Colonel Miller. Was Washington leaning upon the Colonel but had chosen for some reason to protect me, he mused. The only reason he could imagine was that the States wanted to get back on terms with the British and knew him to be the son of Lord Star, a man not unknown to the powerful... Interesting! How could he best use that?
Tom arrived in Dorchester, forced to be visible in Dorset and no longer particularly worried – rich and powerful Lord Andrews was a very different man to the boy smuggler who had fled the area nearly forty years before. His father’s brother must be long dead and his mother’s family down in Weymouth could hardly have heard of him and would never make the connection. Thomas Miller had stayed in Wales for an extra week or two, furthering his acquaintance with Lord Frederick Masters and his family; he expected to arrive in Dorchester the day before the wedding. What of his other unacknowledged son, Thomas Burley, in his new estate near Piddletrenthide? Perhaps a morning visit might be a good idea now that Verity could not be hurt by it.
What was the law, he wondered, on capital crimes committed some forty years previously, the witnesses all dead, the evidence, such as it was, long disappeared. The chance of a conviction was nil, except for political intervention, and the politicians were all on his side, but there could nonetheless be a little of public fuss, a nuisance to him, an embarrassment to Robert. Perhaps it might be as well to remove any warrants that might remain on file, just to make matters tidy for the future. He would have a word with Michael when next he was in London. A pity, because he would have to tell him the truth, for one should never lie to one’s personal lawyer, after all, it might interfere with his own creativity.
He was staying in the County Arms in Dorchester; it was not done to put up in the same house as one’s bride-to-be, no matter how big the mansion, how many the chaperones. The advantage was that it was easier to make the odd visit that might not be wholly approved of by the more conventional and he took advantage of a bright autumn morning to have the horses put to the travelling carriage for an hour’s trip down to the coast, no more than twelve miles, to the small cove where his father had lived. The letter from Michael arrived as he set out.
There were four cottages now, small fisherman’s places, four mooring posts where the boats were dragged up onto the shingle, four sets of racks for drying and mending nets. The boats were at sea on a fine morning, only womenfolk and a few children visible. Tom sat in the carriage a few minutes, rereading the Express from Michael, calming himself, bitter that luck should have played his boy such a trick, there was no way his money could replace the lad’s leg, then looked out of the window at the charming seaside scene.
Their cottage was the third in the line, oldest and smallest of the four. Two windows up and down, a single short chimney stack, water butt under wooden guttering, black and nasty. Old, mossy tiles, thatch was impossible so close to the sea. It was unattractive, poky, reeked of poverty, there was no nostalgic pleasure in seeing it again, merely a sense of relief that he had escaped.
One of the women was walking across, to ask if he needed help, was he lost, he expected. He leant out of the window, smiled politely.
“I am sorry to intrude, ma’am, but I knew this pla
ce as a boy, many years ago, and wanted to see it again as I was in this part of the country.”
She assumed he was related to the landlord, bobbed a curtsey and left him to enjoy his sightseeing.
“Lord Paynton’s, John,” he called to the coachman and turned his back on his birthplace with no wish ever to return. It was pretty enough, but only for those who did not have to live there.
Gervase Drew, heir to the barony and resident in their landholding deep in the Dorset sticks, greeted Tom politely, as always, but with no display of welcome to the family; he did not approve of new money, or of self-made men, or of industry, or steam, or coal mines. Gervase, in fact, disapproved of every possible aspect of Tom – he was too old, too scarred, too self-confident; he was successful and a gentleman had no use for success, should not need it; he was intelligent and a man of birth and breeding should be above mere matters of the intellect; he was known on the national scene, rubbed shoulders with politicians, and no man of honour should lower himself to their company.
Gervase could not imagine what had come over his big sister, in the past as sensible and level-headed a girl as one could hope for – to marry, in her thirties, and to disoblige her family, for he did not believe that his father could possibly be as happy as he seemed and he knew his dear mama had doubts. He had tried to speak to Frances, to gently reason with her, but she would not listen to his words of male wisdom, insisting on her own foolish and frail decision. It merely went to show that women were not capable of guiding themselves, this concept of ‘adulthood’ at one-and-twenty was a nonsense, no female could ever truly grow up.
“I believe my sister is in the rose garden with her mother, Lord Andrews. If you would wait here I will have a message sent to her.”
Tom thanked him, knew better than to suggest that he might go out to her.
The message was given to the butler and refreshments were brought in, Tom accepting without comment a glass of distinctly inferior Madeira.
“Good morning, Thomas!”
“Good morning, my dear! You look well today, I like that dress!”
“Thank’ee kindly, sir, said she. Four days until we are wed, sir – are you beset by doubts and fears? You seem worried this morning.”
“Does it show? I am glad I do not do business with you if you can read my face so easily, I should soon be fleeced! An Express from my lawyer in Town – young James is back in England as a civilian, having lost a leg. Poor lad, well short of his twentieth year and all of his ambitions brought to nothing.”
He passed her the folded sheets. Much to Gervase’s displeasure she actually read them rather than asking her lord to tell her what was in them.
“I am so sorry, Thomas! Poor boy, what is he to do now, do you think?”
Gervase shook his head, said there was nothing the poor fellow could do, but he might well not live too many years, the shock to the system being so great. He seemed inclined to think that an early death might be best for all concerned, removing the burden from the family and the boy alike.
“He will come to the wedding, of course, Thomas, he will be made very welcome, there is a guest chamber held aside for unexpected comers and that can be his, and there will be room for his own attendants as well. I shall speak to Mama and we shall soon have all in hand for him.”
“For the while I must think, deeply, I fear, for I cannot imagine what he will be able to do and he must have some occupation, idleness will ruin him.”
Gervase was inclined to take exception to this. He had never worked in his life and did not believe that any gentleman should do so.
Tom summoned his tact – it would not do to comment on his young brother-to-be’s intellect or moral fibre.
“James is heir to very little, as you will appreciate, Gervase, though I had discussed with Robert the possibility of making him free of the inherited estate at Lutterworth on the occasion of his marriage. Joseph will take a substantial holding in the coal and iron interests, because of his work there, but James was expected to make his career in the Army, to be independent of the family. Now, I do not know... he must not be permitted to languish, to fall into despair, poor lad.”
Gervase could not see why – he was only a second son and the succession was well provided for.
“The poor boy will live in Town, of course, Lord Andrews, unless you do choose to give him Lutterworth. I understand that there is a sufficiency of amusement available for any young gentleman in London, see no real reason to worry, my lord.”
“I believe in the virtues of activity, Mr Drew. A young man who has earned his bread values it the more highly, or so it seems to me. James has been brought up in the expectation that he would be in command of his own future – he must be given that belief again.”
Joseph was increasingly convinced that his own future was not in any way in his control.
He had recently inspected a house, a small place, six or seven bedrooms, in the hills above St Helens, a very short distance from the Stars’ old dwelling; he was told there was no other area of gentility within reach of his workplaces. Mary had approved and the purchase was in hand, furnishing and refurbishment decided upon with the aid of Mrs Matthew Star who had recently completed her own house. James had accepted that the bills should be sent to Martin to be paid after having tentatively suggested that perhaps he should see them first – he had been told that he had better things to do with his precious time.
He had wondered, for a very short time, whether he might be well-advised to travel to America for a while; he understood that there had been a number of advances, inventions, there which would be fascinating to see. Mary had not approved, the idea had been dropped.
He had suggested, once, that he might wish to work with one of the other major manufacturers of steam engines for a year or two – it would be possible, he was sure, to arrange for a pupillage at Boulton and Watt. There was no need, Mary had said, for him to do so.
He would have liked to have met Trevithick, to discuss questions of high-pressure steam with him, but Mary knew the man to be a drinker, bad company for an impressionable young gentleman. He had to be content with writing letters and exchanging drawings, not a satisfactory process.
He had produced a high-pressure engine of his own, stationary because it was massively heavy, and had managed to run all of the belts of a small mill from it. Instead of a single large boiler he had built eight, each much smaller and thickly walled and feeding their steam to the same pair of pistons. He had reduced the demand for coals by banking the boilers around a pair of furnaces but it was unsatisfactory – a single failure in any one of the feed pipes forced the whole system to close down. He had heard that somewhere in the North-East they had partially solved the problems by enclosing larger boilers in masonry, using the strength of stone to compensate for the relative frailty of wrought iron. He would have liked to have seen it for himself, but Mary really did not want him to travel too far before they were wed and she could accompany him.
He could see that he would have to put his foot down, establish himself as a man, but he was not entirely sure how to go about it – perhaps he should ask his father for advice.
Book Five: A Poor Man
at the Gate Series
Chapter Two
The wedding took place in the Paynton’s parish church at Winterbourne and was undoubtedly the most significant event to have occurred there since the burial of the lonely crusader in its nave.
The villagers, not normally very interested in the doings of the Payntons, outsiders who held little of their farmland and had few tenants, most of their people being in the next parish west which only had a small church, all turned out to watch the carriages go by and to peer at the crests and coats of arms. They were disappointed that there was to be no feast for them, but not especially surprised. Mr Gervase who lived in the Big House while his dad was in foreign parts was known as a clutchfist who would always avoid his obligations if he could.
Tom, discovering that nothing had
been done for the local people, was also unsurprised, his opinion of Gervase being less flattering than theirs.
Winterbourne was usefully remote, he decided, an hour out of Dorchester which was itself two days from Town. Any guest who travelled this far really felt obliged to attend, or genuinely wanted to, the great mass of the fashionable and idle being quite unable to bestir themselves so far.
The Masters clan was thinly represented, which was fair enough, though Lord and Lady Frederick had struggled through the tedious journey from West Wales, eldest daughter and Mr Miller with them – that match seemed to be well in the making. The girl did take after her mama, he mused, but Miller was up to her weight, he supposed, he was a strong young man. All of the Stars were in the church and taking up three full pews on their own, immediately behind his own three sons and daughter and her husband. Unless he was much mistook young Charlie was putting on flesh, a good thing too, she and Matthew would enjoy a family and he would like any grandchild they produced, that he was certain of.
He glanced across to the Payntons’ side, he did not really know their connections, supposed he should make some effort to remedy that. One or two nodding acquaintances he had met in London during the Season. None from the worlds of business or finance, as was to be expected, they were an old-fashioned family, which might be to his own advantage – they were very respectable, which he, of course, was not. That reminded him, he must tell Frances the stories of his younger days, before she was made au fait with all of the rumours.
Privilege Preserved (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 5) Page 3