Sam apologised instantly – he had no intention of causing offence, and the man who had challenged him, tall and powerful, was perhaps the natural leader of the group, a one-time sergeant for sure.
“My mistake. I meant only to say that I have worked at close quarters before, during the Rebellion, and that can be messier than firing one’s volleys in the field, which I only ever watched.”
“Ah! I did think I had seen you before, Master. On the field at Culloden. One of Captain Wakerley’s Troop, were you not, sir?”
“I had that honour.”
“So you did, and those few men were named for clearing up any number of Jacobite villains, often fighting at odds as well. You will not need to tidy up after me, Master.”
“I did not think that you were without experience in the field. Sergeant, I must presume?”
“I was, sir, and marched through the Low Countries and the Germanies as well as into Scotland.”
“Good, Mr Rufus told me he had found good men. Our job tonight is to get rid of bad men, as you know, and make the town cleaner and safer for your families as well.”
Rufus had provided a wagon that took them across town, out of sight under its tilt, away from curious eyes, to the riverbank just by the new bridge, where a small boat waited. The two oarsmen quickly inspected the dinghy.
“Is she dry?”
“As a bone, Master.”
“You know what to do?”
“As you told us, sir. There will be no difficulty.”
“Then the rest of us must take our places, ready for you to open the ball.”
“We shall make them dance to our tune, Master. Never you worry.”
Chapter Ten
The Killing Man
Sam led his four men along the road, on the same side as the warehouse for being more difficult to see. The rain had stopped, which was unfortunate for meaning that the watchman was more likely to poke his head outside but had the advantage of keeping their priming dry. In very wet weather men inside, under a roof, would have far less chance of misfires.
Sam put his men into two pairs, left and right, as he had instructed them in the wagon. They stopped by the door, obedient to his whisper.
“I’ll go down the middle. Watch out for falling roof beams and tiles!”
They said nothing, kneeling down in the shadows and waiting.
The two explosions roared, shattering the silence of midnight, waking half of the town in all probabilities.
“In!”
Sam ran first, hoping that the four were all loyal to him. It had occurred to him while waiting that any of them might have made an extra few guineas by speaking to the Tappers earlier in the day. He was not shot in the back, relaxed as he scuttled through the shadows.
The boatmen had rolled their explosive devices right and left through the back doors, had blown out the side walls and damaged the two houses. The guards sleeping on pallets in the middle of the warehouse had taken the full blast of the loads of stone, were sprawled in their own blood, showing no signs of ever moving again. The sole sentry was nowhere to be seen, blown into a corner, perhaps. The attackers ran inside the living quarters, following their ears to the rooms where there was panicked screaming. Sam heard a shot behind him as he shouldered aside a half-open door.
There was a shocked man staggering from a big bed, holding his head. The blankets were covered in solid, heavy chunks of horse-hair plaster from the old ceiling. A lantern had tipped over at the side of the room, a nightlight which had spilled flaming oil over a rug, was starting to flare.
‘Nearly forty; black-haired, with a bald patch; short; carrying a belly. Looks right.’
Sam shot into the protuberant stomach, one barrel of the heavy shotgun. At less than ten feet the shot was still clustered and punched a hole from front to back and threw the man against the wall.
There was a wail from the bed, a girl trying to haul the covers over her head, to conceal her nakedness.
“Get out, lady. The place is catching fire. Don’t bother about your drawers! Grab a blanket and run!”
She fled.
Sam heard another shot a few yards distant, ran into the hallway, saw the big sergeant backing out of a room and ushering another girl in front of him.
“Ware fire! This room’s well alight!”
“On me way out, Master. Got the middle Tapper, I know his face.”
“Take a look where I was, see if that’s the eldest.”
A quick glance and a thumb raised in the firelight.
“That’s him, Master.”
Sam saw the man to be carrying a box, a very heavy, solid wood chest.
“No need to leave this behind, Master.”
There was a pair of shotgun blasts, followed by two measured pistol shots from the other side. Sam ran across trying to keep to the shadows, saw his own men slowly walking out, one covering the doorway as the other shifted to the side.
“One man, the youngest of the Tappers, Master. He’s gone. Two boys as well, what came at us with knives and had to be put down.”
“Well done. Anybody else inside?”
“Not that us saw, Master.”
The fire was spreading into the warehouse; Sam wanted to burn no man alive. They quickly checked over the night men, four dead, two so much hurt as not to survive, their heads well bashed by flying cobbles.
“They ain’t about to wake, Master. Leave ‘em.”
They trotted to the bridge, carrying the heavy box between them, met the two boatmen, kneeling in the shadow of the masonry, guns ready.
“Well done, gentlemen. Could not have been better!”
Sam looked about him, trying to see what was happening. There had been great explosions; the warehouse was showing flame; the shots must have been heard for a furlong on either side.
The street was empty. The cottages and few larger houses showed no lights.
“Where are the people?”
“They got their heads down, Master. They know who lives there in the warehouse, and what they do ain’t none of ordinary folks’ business. See nothin’, hear nothin’, say nothin’, that’s the way not to get your arse kicked – or your head shot off – around here.”
“The Night Watch?”
“The Watch don’t work this street, Master. Nor the constable won’t come until he’s forced to by the Sheriff and his men, and they won’t be here too soon, you can bet on that. We can get aboard our wagon and disappear into the night, just fade away, you might say.”
The disadvantage of a rule of fear, Sam mused. If the people were terrified then they would not come to help when they were needed, and they certainly would not testify before a court. The seven of them could parade up and down the street with a brass band serenading their triumph, and none of the local people would see anything.
“Up in the wagon, gentlemen, let us make our way homewards.”
They dropped off at Rufus’ little pawnshop, crowded into his back room, returning the weapons they had borrowed, thanking him politely.
“All dealt with, Mr Rufus. Three Tappers and some additional unfortunates who were in the wrong place. His night men failed to survive, as did two nasty youths of unpleasant personal habits who were in company of the youngest Tapper and chose to draw knives.”
Rufus shook his head, regretting their impetuous nature.
“Twenty guineas apiece, gentlemen.”
Rufus produced the six stacks of coins and passed them across. In turn, they offered him the chest they had brought out of the Tappers’ rooms.
“Don’t know what’s in ‘ere, Master Rufus, but there’s a bit of weight to it.”
“Should not this be placed in your employer’s hands?”
Sam shook his head.
“Seven of us there, all risking our skins, Mr Rufus. Better that it be opened by a third party, like the lawyers say, so that we can go fair dibs on what’s inside – if there’s anything worth sharing out, that is.”
There was no visible loc
k but the lid was held down firmly. Rufus glanced at the chest and sneered.
“Very clever. One of these so-called concealed fastenings. Unfortunately, using the box means that the owner’s fingers touch on the proper places only, and leave grease marks over the years. Do you see?”
He pointed to two opposing corners at the top where slats of wood showed a slight discoloration. They nodded, pleased to have been told what he was to do and that he had not made a performance of being cleverer than them, of knowing things that they did not.
Rufus pushed the two slats and they triggered an internal spring which released a hidden catch. He flicked the lid up on its hinges.
The box was half-full, a top layer of soft leather bags over a thin sheaf of papers.
“Mr Heythorne?”
Rufus gestured, begging Sam to do the honours.
“The family coffers, Mr Rufus?”
“No, too little, I suspect. The Tappers wealth will lie in a bank, some of it probably turned into land. No, this is running money, the wherewithal to procure an escape if the need arises.”
They opened the little bags, found that they were organised in threes, one set apiece for the brothers.
“Three of fifty guineas; three of five pounds in silver; three of coppers – just a few shillings, but to allow them to purchase a meal in an inn without the notice that gold attracts. Clever.”
They nodded, calculating just how much there was and how it might be shared out.
“These papers, now, in three folders again… Valueless to us, I fear. The deeds to pieces of land and houses.” Rufus peered through and shrugged. “We could lay claim to these places, in London town and down further south, but what if they have residents who will say they belong to the dead Tappers, the papers stolen from them? Too big a risk, I fear.”
Sam agreed.
“No more than a noose for our necks, gentlemen. I would suggest that we divvy up eight ways on the coins and count our blessings. If any one of you really wishes to take the risk, you may try to claim ownership of one of these places…”
Six heads shook; they had been corporals and sergeants, used to taking an officer’s word for what was right. If the master said this was no more than a poisoned chalice, then so be it.
“Into your fire with them, if you would be so good, Mr Rufus.”
Rufus collected the papers together and put them on his counter, ready to take them into his living rooms next to the shop.
“One hundred and sixty-five pounds, plus the shillings on the guineas and the copper. Eight piles is easiest.”
Sam counted out the guineas into stacks, eight of eighteen and six left over. He then made two stacks of twenty-one shillings in silver, put them into place.
“Right, that’s nineteen guineas each, and that’s the easy bit.”
They chuckled, minds and fingers busy with calculations.
“Thirteen quid, less two bob remaining, Master. That’s two ‘undred and fifty-eight bob, what comes to thirty two and thruppence, I reckons, from the silver. Add to that fifteen bob in copper, what amounts to about one and ten apiece, leaving aside the odd farthings, which I reckon we can afford to do.”
“One pound, fourteen shillings and a penny, you say? Seems about right.”
Sam shared the money out and they nodded their satisfaction and told him he could pocket the remaining pennies as a tip. They left, chuckling and highly satisfied with their night’s work. Each man had six months of a craftsman’s wages tucked away; they told Sam as they went that it had been a pleasure to work with him, and he should knock on their doors any time he wanted another such job done.
“What next, Mr Rufus?”
“For you, Mr Heythorne? Back to your business and make your deliveries in your normal fashion, and be ready for men to come, gold in hand, begging you to sell to them. Was I you, sir, I would think about setting on night men, so as to run twice as much.”
“And for you, Mr Rufus?”
“I shall sit here and wait for people to come to me. The Tappers bought stolen goods, for example, and their partners in trade will need a market… Before anything else, though, we should discuss these papers.”
“I had thought they were to burn.”
“The deeds, certainly – they are dangerous. But there are six of Bills of Exchange, each for one hundred pounds sterling. They are counter-signed by bankers and are as safe as can be found. Each has eleven weeks left – they were ninety-one day bills, all of them issued just ten days ago. The Tappers must have replaced them every three months.”
Sam shook his head. He knew nothing of Bills of any sort.
Rufus briefly explained them as short-term instruments of credit; they were almost as good as money, not so heavy and within reason anonymous.
“I could sell each for about ninety-six pounds just now, making allowance for risk and interest.”
“Safely?”
“Wholly.”
“Five hundred and eighty quid!”
“A lot of money. Was you to wish it, I could set it to work for us. I could lend it to a local man who wishes to expand his kilns, for example, at a rate of at least fifteen per centum, an income split between us of nearly ninety a year.”
It was Sam’s first real introduction to the concept of usury; he found himself much in favour.
“It would give me something there in the background, a few bob a week to fall back on if everything went wrong… Do it, please, Mr Rufus. If I was to drop dead and leave a widow, at least she would have a few pennies whatever happened.”
“That is what I thought, Mr Heythorne. As far as I am concerned, it is your money. If you die before me, the whole sum goes to your heirs on my demise. Failing that, my Will names you as part owner of my goods and chattels. The remainder, the bulk, goes elsewhere, of course.”
Where exactly was none of Sam’s business; presumably there was family of some sort in the background.
It was in some ways a generous offer, Sam thought. One might argue, on the contrary, that it was Sam who had taken the risks of going up against the Tappers, and of a certainty, Rufus would be profiting from that. There was no point to challenging Rufus, Sam thought, because it must also mean offending Uncle Abe, and that he had no wish to do, for he could not be on his own, with neither family nor friend to hand. He made his thanks, pledged his future friendship and obligation, and saddled up and rode back to the White Horse and his room up in the attic.
Uncle Abe was still awake, waiting for him.
“All well, Uncle. Those three have ceased their troubling and the little people of the town may sleep quiet in their beds. Mind you, that won’t be tonight! The warehouse seemed to catch alight behind us, Uncle Abe. The gunpowder bombs did better than I might have expected, sir. They blew either end of the place to smithereens and let us in to finish the job with very little by way of argument. We were able to get a pair of young lasses out, but two boys doing the same work for the youngest tried to take knives to my men, which was not the wisest of actions on their part, you might say, but they won’t do it again. There was seven men on night guard, or so it seemed. The six who were sleeping will not be waking up, and the seventh, the sentry, was not to be found.”
“Did he run, the seventh man?”
“Not out of front or back doors, and we did not see him in either house. He might, just possibly, have fled into a cellar or up to a loft. Being so close to the riverside, I doubt there would be a cellar, thinking on it, and if he went upstairs, then the smoke would have joined him, and the flame soon after.”
Abe shrugged – he did not expect to hear more of that gentleman.
“What next, Sam?”
“I think I might now be sole supplier to the whole area, Uncle Abe, with Rufus’ good will to back me. Best to put on a night shift, and perhaps to build onto the warehouse up the road on Parsons’ land and install more stills. It would be cheaper to have everything under the one roof, would probably mean I could get away with fewer hands, but it
might be safer not to be so big as to stand out in men’s eyes. It might be better to find another good stream and set up on a third location. I shall ask Josh Banford for permission to expand the barn at his place, I think, so that comes up to the same size as Parsons’.”
Abe thought there would be no problem.
“Rufus will have a word with the Revenuers, Sam. I doubt you need fear them.”
“Will Rufus be able to persuade them, Uncle Abe? They are not themselves local folk, are they?”
“Don’t worry about that, Sam. They will behave themselves. Rufus knows any number of people and will be able to talk to the right ones. The Revenuers earn pennies, Sam – the fools in the government will never learn that rich criminals and poor lawmen can only have one ending, and the bribes don’t have to be very big.”
Word spread through the town that the Tappers were no more, and speculation raced after – who was to replace them?
The thought of a town without a controlling hand occurred to none of the people who lived there. There was no effective constabulary, and the magistrates court had criminal powers but no effective way of enforcing them; the Militia, if they came, would be no more than bullying, musket-bearing thugs, using butt and bayonet indiscriminately in the streets, drinking to excess, and a menace to everyone; the Mayor and Corporation existed, but had little money and almost no capacity to do anything other than mend the roads and bridges rather badly. If anarchy was not to prevail, then there must be an upright man in the background, keeping the thieves under some control, restraining the street gangs and collecting the word on what was actually happening. The constables and watchmen could do nothing to investigate the worst crimes or catch the perverse criminals, but the upright man would soon get word of who was doing what and bring the true evildoers to a silent end in the night, unless they were his own people, of course, but he would tell them not to be so naughty.
It took a very few days for the poor of the town to discover the name of Rufus, and to know that his people were to be invisible to them. The message was passed that Rufus was a decent man, that he would not beat and brutalise for his own pleasure and that he could be talked to. Inevitably, a few also heard the name ‘Sam’, and knew not to repeat it, except very quietly and to safe friends.
The Killing Man Page 20