“Tuck these out of sight, Uncle Abe.”
Sam brought the bags in, saw Abe’s eyebrows raise at the weight of them.
They opened them in the back room, counted the gold coins inside, tied up in little bags of fifty.
“Forty-seven bags, Sam. Two thousand three hundred and fifty guineas. Just short of two and a half thou’, Sam. Not much point sending Tom down for the keys, Sam.”
“Oh, but we must, Uncle Abe. Tom must go down in all innocent good faith for nine o’clock.”
Abe thought a few seconds before smiling.
“So he must, Sam. One way he makes the awful discovery, the other he turns up and asks the constable what’s going on, showing truly shocked…”
They waved Tom off as he set out to collect the keys.
A week later and a dozen men sat in the secluded back room of the White Horse, quietly talking over a pint. Sam walked in and they stood.
“Sit down, please.”
The chairs and benches scuffed on the floor as they obeyed. Sam surveyed them briefly, content now that they had shown obedient.
“Mr Parsons, the Mayor, told me a few days ago that the Corporation would be petitioning the Lord Lieutenant of the County to send a battalion of militia in to restore the peace in Stoke.”
They stayed silent, hoping that he was about to tell them that he had managed to avert that calamity.
“My uncle managed to persuade His Worship the Mayor not to take such drastic action. He has delayed the request rather than withdrawn it. If the streets return to calm, and if respectable people can sleep in their beds at night without fear of being burglarised, then we shall see no soldiers here. I will give you no orders, gentlemen. I will demand no monies from you. I do insist that the town shall once more become a place where women and children may walk the streets in safety in daytime, and, in fact, where other women can walk the streets at night, if they wish.”
There was a grunt of laughter, all of them sufficiently quick-witted to follow the little joke.
“You each of you have, influence shall we say, in different parts of the town or in distinct professions.”
Sam knew that four of the men owned whorehouses; two were fences; one was master of twenty or so of child pickpockets; the others led gangs of various sorts. All were able to command hard men to go about their bidding.
An anonymous voice called out when he was sure Sam’s head was turned away from him.
“You say that you want no money, Master Sam?”
“There will be no taxes, no imposts made on you. Should you wish to make the occasional gift to my uncle, on his birthday or at Christmas, say, then such would be gratefully received.”
There was more laughter, relieved in tone. They knew the worst now, and it was not as bad as it might have been. The message was being given by Sam, suspected of being a killing man, and they knew he would act as Abe’s enforcer if they were foolish; the amount of money would not be too great – they would talk to each other and decide what ‘gifts’ might be reasonable, bearing in mind the state of trade. They were aware, however, that to neglect to make such gifts might well be unwise.
“I would be unhappy to hear of various businessmen stepping on each other’s toes, gentlemen. The very idea of a turf war appals me. I must say that in such a case I might well find myself forced to bring the dispute to a rapid, and absolute, end.”
They smiled at this, forced, sickly simpers.
“Should outside competition appear, please inform me rather than take action yourselves. I can assure you that I shall be quite cross with any interlopers.”
They smiled again, far more forthrightly.
“Finally, I shall be in the market for information. Should you come across any nests of Jacobites, for example, I would wish to be told instantly. If you discover, as another possibility, any man who is in the habit of talking to the Revenuers, then also tell me.”
They did not ask what would happen afterwards, thinking, rightly, that it was none of their business.
Sam looked about the room, seeking questions, or expressions of doubt.
The master of the pickpockets raised a finger.
“One thing, Master Sam. Protection – do you have any special feelings about folk paying to keep their streets quiet?”
“I cannot like it, Mr Lawrence. If you provide an actual service – for example, bully boys to keep the peace in otherwise rowdy pubs, then I have no objections. But ordinary shopkeepers and tradesmen and people in their little houses, they should have to pay nothing to enjoy the use of their own property.”
Lawrence grunted and held his peace. He decided that he must close down his little racket; his children could rip a small shop to pieces and he made a small income ensuring they did not do so, but Master Sam would be looking for an example to set in the early weeks of his uncle’s rule, and he had no wish to be found shot dead one fine morning.
“Excellent. Thank you for coming to talk with us, gentlemen. I am sure that we can expect a quieter life in our towns from now on. Do remember to send me a message if there is the least upset to the even tenor of our days. I shall be happy always to be of assistance.”
Abe had suggested the wording of that final exhortation. It seemed to have sunk home, Sam thought.
The men drifted out, stepping into traps and gigs and town shays, none of them obtrusive, but none afoot either. These were well-off individuals, each with a front to maintain.
“What are we to do with our two and a half thousand quid, Sam?”
“Spend four or five hundred on building you a very respectable house behind the White Horse, Uncle Abe. You need to look the part of the big man, I believe. An extension to the inn itself would be a good idea as well. A cook and a pair of chamber maids makes sense now.”
“Should we set up our coal mine, Sam?”
“No. Not yet, Uncle Abe. We must not commit ourselves in that way just yet. Perhaps we could put a thousand into an extension of Rufus’ old business. I was thinking it over and we could set up in the money-lending trade. Tom might do very well, sat behind a little desk and making loans of a few shillings at a time to folk experiencing temporary distress for the man of the house being ill or having an accident that puts him out of work for a week or two. Nothing big, few loans to be as much as one pound, but made to people in hardship, or needing, as a sort of thing, to find four weeks rent in advance on moving into a set of rooms or a cottage. Men in reasonably well-paid jobs might not be able to put down sixteen shillings and then cough up their four shillings a week thereafter. If we were to lend them the money, to be repaid at a shilling a week for thirty weeks, say, we should in fact be doing them a great service, for letting them to live in a far more comfortable way. We would not wish to lend larger sums, for fear of treading on Mr Martin’s corns, I think.”
Abe thought that a remarkable suggestion; they should act on it instantly.
“Martin will be pleased to see us in business, Sam. A very reliable friend, Mr Martin, and one with contacts over the whole of the Midlands and up into Lancashire way. Bankers talk to each other in the nature of things.”
Another piece of knowledge, all adding to the mosaic slowly building in Sam’s head.
“No doubt Mr Martin would know people like you in other towns, Uncle Abe.”
“I am sure he would, Sam, but they are no affair of mine. He would never disclose their names.”
“Or ours, I do not doubt, Uncle Abe. I have it in mind, if it is right with you, to pay a visit to my father for a couple of days. I should see that all is well with them, I think.”
Abe thought that to be a very good idea.
“You might ask if one of your sisters wanted to come down here to work, Sam. Better to keep all inside the family, if we can.”
Sam rode up to Hucklow next day, discovered the family to be well and enjoying their new prosperity. The extra animals and the land they had acquired meant that Sam’s father was able to harvest a substantial amount more t
han they needed to feed themselves and he had sent two wagonloads of oats and barley down to the market.
“More next year, Sam. I built on more pigsties, and I’m looking at a little dairy, all of our own. Send cheeses in, and hams as well, maybe. The sheep are more meat animals than wool, but I got a dozen of sheepskins from the kill this year and they are to keep us warm when winter comes. Reckoning to buy more land, so I am, Sam, for the Rector ain’t much into farming and be willing to let me ‘ave another few acres on the sides of the dale. Can find the money for a bit, acos of rough pasture on the edge of the moors don’t come in at five bob an acre.”
Sam, who found it easy to slip back into the local way of speaking, was impressed.
“If you got a dairy building, Da, then you need the girls for working it. I was going to say that Uncle Abe needs a chamber maid, but you can’t really let ‘em go, I should reckon.”
“Can’t be done, Sam, unless your biggest brother gets it into his head that he should take a wife, and I don’t see that ‘appening these next few years. You could take young Fred though, if you could find a place for ‘im. At a loose end, so ‘e is. Fifteen now and growing into manhood, and nothing much for him to do – same as for you.”
“I can find him work, Da. We’re getting big in the area, Da. Uncle Abe and me are into a lot of things now. Might be I shall be marrying into a bit of land soon. I’ll tell thee more if that comes about.”
“Good. Might settle you down. Young for marrying, but it might do you good. You mind that old leather trunk what you brought in, Sam? I never looked inside that. Now that we got a bit of money about the farms, we might just poke our noses inside.”
“Do it ourselves, Da? Or should we get the other three across to see all’s square when we do it?”
“All of us together – saves years of argufying otherwise.”
The four farmers lugged the trunk outside, swearing at its weight, and increasingly excited as they imagined treasure inside.
The chain wrapped around was still secured by its heavy padlock, but the links were made of wrought iron, crudely welded together on an anvil. A hammer and cold chisel split the weld and then a pair of crowbars in strong hands forced a link apart. Twenty minutes and the chain was off. Sam’s father lifted the lid, hopefully.
“Bags of summat, leather sacks, but too big to ‘ave coins in ‘em.”
There were three large bags, tied closed. He opened one and disclosed a grey powder.
“Buggered if I know what that’s supposed to be, or why they kept it locked up!”
Sam put a finger in and sniffed.
“Saltpetre, Da. For making gunpowder. They Scottish blokes didn’t ‘ave much by way of gunpowder, for not having good saltpetre. I reckon they Frenchies sent some across. Might be able to sell it for a few bob, if you can get it across to a town what’s got a powder mill, or a gunsmith maybe who makes up his own loads for the local gentry.”
The four started laughing, their visions of wealth evaporating.
“Better part of two hundredweight of the stuff, Sam – I suppose it would make up about half a ton of gunpowder when it was put together with the brimstone and charcoal. No bloody use to us. Best us should talk to Parson – he might know best thing to do with it.”
The others agreed, told Sam’s father that the chest was his to deal with. Sam shrugged and put the lid down.
“Keep it dry, that’s all I know, Da. Better we take it inside again.”
They carried the chest back into the cottage and the three ambled off, still chuckling together.
“They gone Da?”
Sam’s father had come back indoors, saw that he had lifted the three sacks out of the chest.
“They ain’t big enough to fill the whole thing, Da. So I had a look underneath they.”
There was a dozen of smaller bags forming a bottom layer.
“Bloody hell, boy. What’s in them?”
“Ten quid in silver shillings and tanners, Da. I make it a hundred and twenty pound.”
“And they told I the chest was mine to deal with. Well and good, our Sam.”
“Bit of a windfall for thee, Da. It’s all yours. I got me own money and you got land to buy.”
“I ‘ave too, Sam. I’ll ‘ave a word with Parson and see about moving that saltpetre stuff. Good chance ‘e’ll know of a gunsmith – the gentry do, generally – and will be able to get rid of it for me. Can talk about buying an acreage as well. Still as good-hearted a man as ever, despite being squire now as well as parson. Be able to work something out with him, Sam. You take Fred away and I’ll look after the rest of the family, and I reckon we’ll all do well for them bloody Scotsmen coming down with their thieving ways.”
# # #
Thank you for reading The Killing Man. The second book in the trilogy is expected to be released in mid-late 2018. Note: The author’s recently completed Innocents at War Series, has received much critical acclaim and comes highly recommended. Find out more here:
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Man of Conflict Series: Youngest son of a wealthy English merchant, Septimus Pearce is an utterly spoiled brat whose disgraceful conduct threatens his family’s good name. His father forces him to join the army in an attempt to reform him, but even the disciplines of army life where he sees bloody action in three countries fail to exorcise his nastier character traits. Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
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Innocents at War Series: The Royal Flying Corps grew from the amateur hobbyists flying the earliest and most dangerous machines. Mostly drawn from the Army and Navy, the pilots regarded themselves as gentlemen members of a new club. The Great War saw the death of amateurism - except in the higher ranks - and the unplanned, fortuitous creation of a professional force.
Innocents at War follows the career of Anglo-American flier, Tommy Stark, an enthusiastic boy forced to grow up quickly as many around him die. His deep affection for squire’s daughter, Grace is his only certainty as the bitter conflict threatens to strip the world of its innocence.
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A Poor Man at the Gate Series: Book One: The Privateersman is FREE on Kindle -Escaping the hangman’s noose in England, commoner Tom Andrews finds himself aboard a privateering ship before fleeing to New York at the time of the Revolutionary War. It is a place where opportunities abound for the unscrupulous. Hastily forced to return to England, he ruthlessly chases riches in the early industrial boom. But will wealth buy him love and social respectability?
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The Duty and Destiny Series: These superbly-crafted novel length sea/land stories are set in the period of the French Revolutionary War (1793 – 1802). The series follows the naval career and love-life of Frederick Harris, the second son of a middling Hampshire landowner, a brave but somewhat reluctant mariner. (Book One was first published in 2014.) Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
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Born in a home for fallen women, at the age of eight the barefooted and waiflike Harry is sent out to work. After years of unpaid toil and hunger, he runs away and is cajoled into believing that the Army is his only option. He joins a battalion that is sent to Africa’s Slave Coast where disease is the biggest killer of men. When th
e much-thinned battalion returns to England and is disbanded, he drifts into smuggling in order to survive. All goes well until he is betrayed and forced back on the run. Leaving the West Country behind, he enlists in a Sussex regiment which is sent to quell rioting in the north where he faces danger from the angry Mob, and from the rage of a sadistic young ensign who is out for Harry’s blood.
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Book One: Long Way Place
In the early 1900s gutter rat, Ned Hawkins aims to rise from the grinding poverty of an English slum, but is forced to flee the country and ends up in Papua. It is a dangerous place where cannibalism and cannibals are never far away. Despite this menacing backdrop, he prospers and almost by accident, finds love. However, there are ominous stirrings in the land that bode ill for the future. Note: Book Two is now available on Kindle.
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