“A mug of porter, if you have such, would be very welcome, Mr Makepeace.”
“Heavy wet, Mr Malone? I think you will enjoy the pint we have on offer here, sir. I do not brew my own but purchase from the Rising Sun in Leek. The gentleman there sells to more than a dozen of local houses, such a good barrel as he can produce.”
Malone sampled his pint and agreed it was good; he might well speak to the host of the Rising Sun himself, being prepared to buy in where the brew was better than his own.
“Now then, gentlemen, I have been wishful to address you for some little time, for thinking that we might be putting ourselves on a more businesslike footing you might say. It seemed to me that this joyous occasion might be a fine time for us to talk. I must first make a little offering to Mr Heythorne to celebrate his son.”
Malone produced a soft leather drawstring purse, heavy with gold, or so they presumed, as it would have been most ill-mannered to open it and count under his nose.
Sam made his thanks and wondered just how he could better assist Mr Malone.
“You will bear in mind that we go to some lengths to restrict the activities of the less well-intentioned of the denizens of our streets, Mr Malone. We have discouraged interlopers from foreign parts from indulging in house-breaking in Stoke and we are considering the introduction of a fire company to our streets. All of these activities cost a few pounds and we do invite our friends in the town to contribute to our expenses.”
“And so you do, sir, and not so huge an impost as is known in places elsewhere, I am aware. I was thinking, sir, of expanding my enterprises into the production of coals for the benefit of the potteries hereabouts. I purchased a stretch of farmland recently, thinking to set my family to the land, so that the boys could grow up healthy in the countryside, as did I, though in Ireland. To my amaze, when clearing dead trees from an apple orchard on the hillside, my men came across a vein of coals outcropping there, no more than two feet under the soil! Examination has shown it to be thick and eminently workable, and it is within reason close to the road into town. The purchase of wagons and horses to carry the coals into town, and the hire of labourers to work the pit, will be beyond my purse at this moment. I must seek a partner, sir, and would not do so without first speaking to you, for such would be an unfriendly act, I believe.”
Sam was impressed by Malone’s wisdom and courtesy.
“I have been interested in coal for some little time, Mr Malone. Indeed, I have a young man riding the local hills for me in search of workable seams, though with little success just yet. Now here you are with a seam discovered by purest chance! What exactly do you have in mind, sir? Drays on the high road into Stoke or some other scheme?”
“We all know of the trackway you have recently put into use, Mr Heythorne. It seemed to me that you could offer the construction of such a machine, having the knowledge of how it works, as you might say, while I saw to the pit itself.”
That was a sensible suggestion, using Sam’s knowledge to reduce their costs. He was immediately in favour.
“And ownership, Mr Malone?”
“One hundred shares, sir. Forty-nine apiece to you and me, two to Mr Makepeace so that any dispute between us could always be settled fifty-one to forty-nine.”
It also meant that Mr Malone acknowledged that he must be junior to them.
“Wise indeed, sir. And what would the face-value of these shares be?”
“One hundred pounds, sir. I would suggest that we would need a capital of about four thousand pounds initially, so the shares to be paid at forty pounds in the first instance, allowing sixty to be called if the need arose.”
Sam knew he could find his two thousands, twenty pounds less, in fact. He wondered whether he should demand that Malone should show his own cash, in coin on the counter of his bank.
Wiser not, it would show distrust. He might not have complete faith in Mr Malone’s probity, but there was no need to make any announcement of the fact.
“What say you, Uncle Abe?”
Abe was in favour; the demand for coal seemed to rise every week and they would be very wise to put their money into the black gold.
“One day, gentlemen, it might be wise to put cash into one of the larger and better-run potteries as well. For the while, let us start with a single pit.”
They drank another pint to their new endeavour.
“An attorney must be our next step, gentlemen. We will deal with each other honourably, of that I do not doubt, but any one of us could shuffle off this mortal coil any day – life is uncertain and it is well for our heirs to know exactly where they stand on our sudden taking away.”
“Sure and that was elegantly expressed, Mr Makepeace. ‘In the midst of life, there is death’, so the Good Book says. An attorney’s words will make everything that much the easier for those we leave behind.”
A quote from the King James Bible made it likely that Mr Malone was a Protestant, but it was as well to establish the fact. There might be questions raised in court if it transpired that Mr Malone was Catholic and thus unable to swear his Bible oath and testify lawfully. No point to writing a contract and then finding it to be unenforceable by legal proceedings.
Sam thought for a few seconds, trying to discover a tactful means of enquiring his denomination; he rapidly gave up – business and tact did not mix.
“As an Irishman, Mr Malone, are you from the north, the Protestant parts, that is?”
“You are under a slight misapprehension, Mr Heythorne. I am from Cork, in fact, but a good member of the lawful church. Perhaps there are but few of us in the southern parts, but not all are benighted slaves to Rome, sir.”
Sam had not realised that to be the case, wondered if it was perhaps the reason for Mr Malone being found in England now. An active member of a minority church might well find emigration a sensible course, and the Irish papists had no reputation for tolerance.
“That makes it easier to do business with you, Mr Malone. You have children, you say, sir?”
“Two sons, Mr Heythorne. Strong lads and healthy. I was sorry to hear of your loss, Mr Makepeace, and the circumstances leading up to it. I presume you fear no repetition of such events, sir?”
Sam wondered just how much of the business in Stafford was common knowledge, then decided that if he was to work in partnership with Mr Malone, he must deal honestly with him. He gave him a brief outline of the events that had led to Thomas’ death and then of his actions in Stafford itself.
“You might say, Mr Malone, that I am waiting for a response from Stafford. I do not know what form it may take, but there has been no immediately violent riposte and, indeed, some months have passed.”
Malone was openly puzzled.
“Strange that, Mr Sam. You might look for a bullet out of the dark within the day or two of the happenings in Stafford, or for the attempt to burn you out in your turn, if they are to continue a feud. One might ask why they had initiated such violence against your son, Mr Makepeace, if they had not intended to continue in such a course. If they were frightened by the arson of this Pankhurst, then, sure, you might look for a rapid contact and offering of peace. To do nothing for, what, five months and more now? That is strange.”
“So we think, Mr Malone. It does occur to me that possibly the man Bottomley is interested in putting his house in order before he does more. Perhaps he was not consulted before their initial unwise action against young Mr Makepeace – he may be trying to recover from their foolishness. He might have arranged for his family to go to a place of safety while he recruits a band of villains to strike against us. We do not know. We can but guess.”
“So you must, sir. There has been no word in Stoke, Mr Sam. If I hear anything, then I shall send a messenger on horseback.”
“That would be most kind of you, Mr Malone. Let us put our partnership in the hands of our attorneys with no delay, Mr Malone. I have a feeling that we may all three of us gain greatly from your clever suggestion. Our sons may well than
k us for this day.”
“So they may, Mr Sam. So they may!”
A horseman came riding up to Bancrofts late in a morning, not dismounting but bending down in the saddle to speak to Charlie the stableman who came out to him.
“Is this place where Sam lives?”
“Mr Samuel Heythorne do live ‘ere, with his missus and ‘er father what do be the Bancroft of the ‘ouse, as you might say.”
“Right. Open up they ears of thine and listen good. Mr Bottomley what ‘e knows about, do want to speak to ‘im. My master, so ‘e is, Mr Bottomley. Not goin’ to come into Stoke, ‘e ain’t. Don’t want Sam to come into Stafford. So, my master says, ‘ows about the two of they meets up in Stone at the Fighting Cock Inn at twelve noon of Thursday next. It ain’t exact ‘alfway, but there ain’t no place what is, except maybe a hedge tavern or that sort what neither bloke wants to be seen in. One man by their sides, each of ‘em, and two waiting outside, apiece, that is. Then they can talk things out.”
Charlie repeated the message, twice, to make sure he had it memorised. The horseman rode off and the ostler trotted inside.
Sam was not at home, but Josie wrote down the details so that nothing would be forgotten.
“Mr Sam is in Stoke this morning but will be back by mid-afternoon, I imagine. Do you go to the cottage where Nick lives, and then see Jacky. Tell each that they are wanted for Thursday. Tell them the words you were given, Charlie.”
Charlie thought he could do that and ran off to deliver his messages before he forgot them.
“You will go, I presume, Sam?”
“I must, Josie. If we are to avoid an outbreak of what might amount to absolute warfare, then we must talk. I do not like this proposal, I must say. Myself and three men, when I am known to employ the services of just three henchmen. It may be coincidence; it may be that there will be a dozen sat behind windows across the road and more inside the inn, the Fighting Cock, Bottomley specifies. The only thing to do is to arm my men more heavily than might be expected. I must go into Stoke in the morning, Josie, and purchase all I can by way of pistols and such. Jacky and Happy Henry are known hard men who do not generally carry barkers but rely upon their fists and Happy Henry’s brute strength; equip them with four barrels apiece and they may have the advantage of surprise. Nick as well is known – although only by a few – always to carry blades. It will be possible to give him pocket pistols. I am renowned for my pistols, I must suppose – there is little I can do that will be unexpected.”
Josie had managed to close her eyes to Sam’s extra-curricular activities, was none too pleased to be bluntly informed that he and his closest associates were men of blood.
“I know that Thomas Makepeace was cruelly done to death, Sam, but what did you do in Stafford as a retaliation?”
Sam’s first reaction was to tell her to mind her own business. How he behaved in the world of men was nothing for her to interfere in. He restrained himself, as much as anything because she had shown useful in creating an office and making the distilleries more profitable. She had the right to know what was happening in the concerns she had become involved in.
“I discovered a man named Pankhurst to have been responsible for poor Tom’s torture and death. I killed him and burned out his house in revenge, with Nick’s enthusiastic assistance. You know that I carry pistols in my pockets – I have been forced to use them on occasion, in order to defend myself. As a result, there are those who do not scruple to name me as a man of violence. I will say only that I will not use a pistol as a first resort.”
She was not certain that that assurance was particularly pleasing to her; it seemed not impossible that the gun was her husband’s much-preferred second choice of argument. There was, however, no gain in arguing over his past behaviour. What was done, was done, but she might have some chance of modifying his future conduct.
“Will you take care, Sam?”
“I must endeavour to, my dear. I wish to come back to you and our son and I intend to protect our income as well. We are on the way to becoming rich, Josie. I much hope to live to enjoy our prosperity, to see our son grow up a gentleman and our daughters, if such eventuate, as I much hope, to be ladies, wed to the best in the land.”
He did the rounds of the pawnbrokers the next morning, preferring not to be seen in the gunsmiths in the main shopping part of town. If he was to buy additional pistols, which it seemed he must, then it were better that the ladies of the magistracy should not see him do so and mention the fact to their busy husbands. The exchange of pistol fire in the centre of Stone on the day after he was seen to have purchased additional barrels might generate speculation that he did not want.
Every pawnbroker had pistols in his back room, not on overt display but easily to hand against enquiry. Sam could have bought ancient or modern horse pistols or weapons for the belt by the score. Pocket murderers were less common, but each of the four shops he visited had one or two, in one case a matched pair of double barrels which he immediately bought for himself.
“London made, are they not, Mr Mordecai?”
“They are indeed, Mr Sam. The possession of a jeweller who died young, or so I am told, sold by his relict when she retired to her home village, close to Stoke. She brought much of his stock as well as her own funds when she left Town for the obscurity of the countryside. She is a well-off lady, the arbiter of her little village and loved by all, including her garden boys.”
Mr Mordecai tittered merrily at his scurrilous little joke. Sam grinned and chose not to pursue the topic. He wondered whether her husband had died of natural causes, but that was not his affair to pursue.
“Short barrel and heavy, Mr Sam. I have loads of ball or bird shot made up to size. Powder, I do not supply.”
“That I can deal with, Mr Mordecai. The price, sir?”
“I bought them rather than took them as pledges, Mr Sam. If I might just consult my ledger – I make a note of all that I actually buy in a separate book, sir.”
The pawnbroker made a show of opening a thick, leather bound volume, turning to a page headed up with a single name and finding an entry partway down the sheet.
“Here we are, Mr Sam. ‘One pair matched, double-barrel flintlock hand guns. Very good. Ball and loads.’ Thirty-two shillings, I paid, not six months ago.”
“Forty shillings would therefore represent fifty per centum, calculated on the whole year, Mr Mordecai.”
“It would indeed, Mr Sam. A not ungenerous profit on that particular transaction, sir.”
Sam thought it was, especially because he did not believe that Mordecai had paid one half of the thirty-two shillings he had quoted.
A quick check to ensure that the locks actually worked and gave a strong spark and Sam paid over his cash and then went on his way to procure belt pistols for Jacky and Happy Henry elsewhere. He believed in spreading his largesse; he was the great man of the town and when he made purchases, he must pay top price and show happy to do so, as many as possible to gain from his generosity.
The fourth shop he visited had a cut-down fowling piece, well hidden away. To be discovered in possession of the criminal weapon was sufficient to hang a villain; the officers of the peace much disliked the guns, stating, rightly enough, that their sole purpose was to kill at close range. They were neither sporting nor military pieces and their owners were made felons by the very act of purchasing or themselves creating them.
“Delightful, Mr Taffley! Just what I was looking for!”
“Glad I will be to get rid of it, Mr Sam! Three shillings I paid the daughter of Chuffy Smith, the day after he was hanged, some four years since; I gave her that because she was penniless and needed two bob for the carriers cart across to the village outside Shrewsbury where her old granny lives, and she a girl of no more than ten years and sure to come to a bad end in a house that specialises in such if she did not get away. Put her on the cart myself, so I did, Mr Sam, for not holding with what would happen to her otherwise, and for having a liking
for Chuffy, who had put more than one little bargain in my way. But that left me with this dangerous thing which I did not dare even throw away for fear that I might be seen so doing. My three bob back and I shall be more than happy, Mr Sam.”
Sam found a half guinea in his purse, slapped it down on the counter.
“That’s its worth to me, Mr Taffley, and grateful I am to get it.”
“You are a scholar and a gentleman, Mr Sam! My deepest thanks.”
Sam met with Jacky and Happy Henry and Nick next day, handed out their new weapons.
“For you, Nick, a pair of double-barrel murderers, suitable for use very close, for that is where you so much like to be.”
Nick allowed that he could be persuaded to carry a pistol on occasion.
“It seems that tomorrow might be such a day, Mr Sam, and happy I shall be to play my little part in it.”
“For you, Jacky, four long barrelled horse pistols; they may well be accurate over thirty yards.”
“Good enough to put the wind up any man on the far side of the road, sir. I am no great hand with a pistol, but I might well be close enough to do some good. What for my good brother, sir? He is not one to handle a gun, I must say.”
Sam produced the sawn-off fowling piece.
“Two barrels and perhaps a ten gauge, Jacky. To be held like a pistol, one handed by a strong man. A great spread of shot at ten paces that will lacerate five or six men shoulder to shoulder. Inside a room, at three or four paces, it will paint the walls with any man it hits.”
“Oh, elegantly expressed, Mr Sam,” Nick interjected.
Happy Henry held his hand out; he smiled as he levelled the piece and squeezed the triggers. He seemed disappointed to discover it to be unloaded.
“Prime the locks at the last minute, perhaps, Jacky?”
“Better so, sir. I think Henry likes the weapon, sir.”
“Excellent!”
“I do trust that you have considered your own safety, so valuable to us, Mr Sam?”
A Killing Too Far Page 15