A Lawless Place

by David Donachie

  Thus she ensured she was neither esteemed nor respected and, as a source of information, she was not one to be questioned. A hint of such a query might reach the ears of Tulkington, which could result in the offender being shown the gate.

  Miss Elisabeth – the long-serving retainers could not bring themselves to think of her otherwise – had always been held to a different standard. This applied especially to Grady and Upton, men who had been working at Cottington, though not in their present elevated tasks, when she was a growing girl, with all the lack of decorum permitted by her age.

  Even widowed and back at Cottington, she had held to her mode of address, which was not only respectful, but also hinted at an innate kindness, while showing none of the stiff reserve that characterised her relatives. So, as far as it was possible for a servant to esteem a family member, she was held in high regard.

  ‘Rum do, Grady,’ Upton moaned, easing himself into a chair. ‘Said it t’other day and I do so again now.’

  They always met in the storeroom, over which Grady ruled. Off to one side lay his sleeping quarters, that being a space no one entered without knocking first, Henry Tulkington being the sole exception. The stables were the opposite: open to all. Very recently, Miss Elisabeth had been a frequent visitor. She would engage one of the younger stable boys to take out a pony and run errands for her, carrying notes to destinations about which Upton did not enquire. It had become easy to guess subsequently, not that such information was vouchsafed to anyone, especially the master of the house.

  ‘Lookout for strangers on the road,’ Upton added, ‘what the devil for?’

  ‘Never been so hard to find out anything, Lionel. No one is even whispering in the corners.’

  When it came to secrets, generally, the people they served had none. It seemed a common misconception of those who employed servants that they were deaf, dumb and blind, unable to hear, see or to make sense of overheard conversations. They acted as if their inferiors had no views worth consideration, nor had the sight to see the silent interactions and facial expressions, which imparted more of what was going between those they attended to than talk.

  ‘T’was like me being put to tailing Miss Elisabeth from weeks past.’

  That referred back to another discussion: Henry had ordered Upton to follow Betsey on her daily walks, so he had been obliged to admit to whom she met and how often. The fact that he disliked the duty, or relating the details of what he had seen, mattered little. Henry Tulkington, as ever, got what he wanted, which included the recent boarding up of the broken and hidden postern gate, by which Brazier had so many times effected entry.

  ‘Her naval captain is at the seat of it, true enough,’ Grady acknowledged.

  Upton sighed, possibly for what he and the cook did not have. ‘They were sweet and getting sweeter, from what I saw. I could have sworn there were to be bells a’ ringing.’

  ‘There were bells and we didn’t hear, Lionel, for they were done without.’

  ‘Can’t believe she’s really been wed off to that uppity young bugger?’

  ‘The way her brother named her, as Mrs Spafford, makes it so. An’ it can only have been done to thwart the cove you saw her kissing.’

  ‘Hard to credit he’d go that far.’

  ‘He’ll do as he wishes. Did I not have another locked up in the cellar?’

  By accident, not being expected to be about, Grady had seen some stocky, rough-looking cove taken through the cellar door. His key, by which he could stock the dining and drawing rooms, as well as his pantry, with wine and brandy, had been removed by Tulkington and only given back the day before, obviously once the detainee was gone.

  ‘There’s one I’d have liked to kick in the arse,’ Grady added, there being no need to say whom; Spafford junior had got under his far-from-thick skin with his demands and the rude manner of delivery. ‘If he’d asked me to shave him, I might have been tempted to slit his gullet.’

  Upton knew that to be so much fancy. Grady was given to talking in a like manner in here, bellicose and hard. Outside, he was the sort who only opened his mouth when asked to do so. But they had common ground, for it was necessary they look after themselves and those over who they exercised supervision: footmen, maids and stable lads. If they cared for the quality of Cottington Court with due attention, their own well-being was of equal value.

  ‘Nothing said by Miss Elisabeth?’ Upton enquired. ‘She ain’t been near the stables.’

  ‘Maids can’t talk to her and enquire, though they told of how strange was her state the morning after all the shouting and bawling. Lovell was there to stop any talk and she’s ever there now. If Miss Elisabeth rings down, she has to be told, it’s for her to answer, not any of us. Can’t ask to aid her, can we, but I’m dying to know what’s what.’

  Upton sat with him for a while in a state of silent study, before admitting something which had occurred to him. ‘Goes for walks on her own, every day?’

  Grady’s keen look indicated he understood. He saw Miss Elisabeth in the hallway and the drawing room, which he held to be his patch. He was the one who fetched and helped her into her outdoor clothing. But that was no location in which to pose questions: you would never have known who could overhear before the present troubles. Now it was certain Lovell would do so.

  ‘Be careful, Lionel, is all I would say.’

  ‘One of the spare coach mares has been ailing with laminitis, but is coming back to fitness, so she has to be walked regular, a job I gave to one of my hands, normal like. What if I were to take it on myself? Timed right and on the path to the lake for a change, I could just run into her. What harm in asking how she is and what’s goin’ on then?’

  ‘Even I know that’s not your normal path.’

  Upton chose to ignore that. ‘She’s fond of a horse too, always has been.’

  A bell rang on the panel just outside the storeroom, so Grady hauled himself up and went out, intoning, ‘No rest for the wicked.’His head soon came back through the door. ‘Miss Elisabeth’s bell, so I have sent for Lovell.’

  He found Elisabeth in the hallway, with an expression-free Sarah Lovell in attendance. Given he knew her requirements, the garments necessary for outdoors – a thick cloak and a bonnet plus a muffler – were fetched to be put on. This was carried out without the need for words, the cloak placed round her shoulders so she could tie the cord herself.

  By his face you would never have known it, but Grady was affected by memory just then, thinking back to what Miss Elisabeth had so recently been, in contrast to the dejected creature he was observing now. It was worse the further back his mind went, recalling the skipping and laughter that had characterised her as a girl.

  She had also, and just as often, filled the house with dispute, for she argued with her father over any restraint. And it had to be noted with some glee, she had either carried the day by the sheer ferocity of her argument or, if that failed, by the kind of coquettish cheek afforded to daughters of strong-minded male parents.

  Then came the proposed nuptials and, with Tulkington senior gone to meet his maker, the arguments that had ensued with Master Henry before matters were settled and harmony reigned once more. Grady had been present at her wedding and, even fully occupied in supervision, he had observed how happy she seemed, and took from it some pleasure of his own. Even her misery guts of a brother had found it possible to smile on that sunny day.

  As Betsey went out the door, her aunt addressed Grady, to repeat a message previously delivered. ‘Someone to keep a look out for my niece’s return.’

  The last part she did not bother to add: she was to be called as soon as Miss Elisabeth was spotted coming through the garden gate.

  Just breathing the fresh air had a positive effect on Betsey. Despite Henry’s restrictions, she would be getting out of Cottington Court come morning, with a chance she might affect her predicament. There was relief that he was gone, she having seen his coach pull away from her bedroom window. In itself this lift
ed a bit of weight; he was a baleful presence even unseen.

  The wind, which had whipped at her cloak the day before, had moderated, the sky was as it should be in spring, a mixture of sunshine and billowing cloud, with the occasional fast-moving shadow obvious as it progressed over patches of open ground. Her thoughts were much the same, the bright hopes, so recently a warming vision, overborne by dark thoughts. They were as they had been from the moment she awoke in that drugged stupor: how could it be otherwise?

  Having gone right round the lake, Betsey was on her way back to the house when she spotted Upton coming towards her, leading a horse. He being a man who had always behaved kindly towards her, keen to encourage her love of riding, the sight raised both questions and perhaps, though she was careful in her anticipation, possibilities. What did he know of those notes she had pressed his youngest stable lad to deliver?

  He could not have been much in ignorance, if you excluded the contents. No one could take a pony out of the stables without his permission and he had never objected to the imposition, one as a family member she had a right to make. That accepted, it would have been more than curiosity could bear not to ask after the destination.

  The realisation that Henry had never mentioned those notes came suddenly, along with a conviction. If he had been aware, he would not have passed up an opportunity to throw such knowledge in her face. Another thought occurred: the woods and the lake, outside an annual coppicing, pollarding and keeping down the rabbits, were held to be the preserve of the family, unlike the rest of the estate outside the walls, home to much activity.

  She had played here as a child and young woman, keeping her and her friends away from the kind of prying eyes that might report on any mischief, not that such would extend beyond pranks. But the same had held in her meetings with Edward Brazier, a knowledge it was unlikely they would be observed by servants or farm labourers.

  ‘Ma’am,’ emerged when Upton was close, his leather hat pulled off in respect.

  ‘Mr Upton, it is unusual to see you hereabouts.’

  These words induced in the groom a slight feeling of discomfort; he was more accustomed to being here than she knew. He had, however, his excuse prepared.

  ‘Change of scenery, ma’am. My lads have been walking herself here for days now, an’ it was time I saw how she’s progressin’ myself. Normally she’s been taken round the farm fields and down to the main paddocks to have a sniff of the herd. But they are fresh ploughed now and the ground is wet. Thought if I went that way, we’d come in with a ton of mud on her feet, an’ mine too.’

  A short conversation ensued about laminitis and the need to keep a horse so affected in a stall, which might appear comfortable for a human, but tended to deny equines − herd and prey animals − the company they liked and in which they felt safe. It moved on to how unpleasant were the paths round the outer fields in such conditions, churned up by both the shire horses and indifferent ploughing.

  While talking of this, Betsey’s thinking was on another subject entirely. Upton, his grooms and stable lads, must be in and out of the enclosed part of the estate all the time, going to and from the well-stocked outer paddocks. Cottington was home to active horse breeding, providing a steady supply to the house, as well as a good source of revenue from the annual horse sales.

  She could remember being taken down to the paddocks by her father, to choose her first pony, followed over the years by others as she grew out of them in succession, until finally it was a proper horse of eighteen hands and no shortage of spirit. The question she finally posed came with what she hoped was an air of innocence.

  ‘You still come and go by the north gate, I assume?’

  That was acknowledged. There should have been no need to refer to them being locked against poaching and the thieving of wood, but Betsey did so. Cottington Court consisted of a high-walled interior manor, containing the house, the parish church, this wood and lake, plus a number of barns for the storage of farming implements as well as Upton’s stable block. Extensive cultivated fields and said paddocks lay on the outer fields, reached by several sets of double gates, through which traffic could pass. These were kept padlocked unless in use.

  Betsey sank down on her haunches, feeling the lower leg for signs of heat and, finding none, smiled up at the head groom, who seemed taken by her concern. ‘How long was she in a stall? Forgive me, I should surely ask her name.’

  ‘This one’s called Posy an’ can be put to a coach when fit. Two weeks and ever a moan for hunger. Couldn’t feed her as she wanted, for her weight.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Betsey was up now and by Posy’s head, stroking her head and getting the gentle nudge of pleasure in return. More importantly, proximity to Upton allowed for quiet conversation and what might be construed as a tentative hint.

  ‘You should come this way more often, Mr Upton, or perhaps it is I who should vary my route? I could even walk the mare if you so desired.’ A self-deprecating smile was necessary. ‘Always assuming you trusted me to be firm.’

  ‘She’s not of the kind to seek to run off.’

  Betsey was now at a loss as to what to say but that did not preclude thinking. Would it be wise to open up completely, to tell Upton of her problem? Hesitation was natural, for the mere fact of his being on this path, if no other. Was his change of scenery an excuse to follow her, in case she was looking for a way to escape? Would anything she said be reported back to her aunt, or worse, to Henry?

  What did he know? Was it safe to ask? Upton was smilingly chatty and could be suggesting a route to freedom. Genuine or a ruse? She could ask to walk Posy the following day, or the one after, but suggest she’d need the key to the gate, which would gain her partial freedom, incomplete because she would have to get to somewhere safe.

  Would the home of the Colpoys suffice? Annabel had helped her before, but she had declined on another occasion, being too afraid of her husband. Roger would most certainly not welcome her as a guest. According to Annabel, he would do nothing to upset Henry, given what had been visited upon him on one occasion when he did.

  The only safe place was in Deal and not in rooms or the Three Kings, where she could be found and fetched back by force. Quebec House provided the only refuge that would serve. Edward would take her in and protect her. If her reputation was then shredded by taking up residence in the house of an unmarried man, so be it.

  The possibilities Upton might afford her would have ended, had she known they were being observed. Creevy, the head gardener, had seen the groom heading out with his mare on an unfamiliar route and, prompted by curiosity, had followed him. He was now wondering what to do with the information he could see before him, Miss Elisabeth and Upton as chatty as old friends.

  The pair were walking back towards both house and stables, conversing as they progressed, but it was nothing more than banal exchange. Betsey had decided she must hold her tongue and not succumb to the temptation to confide in Upton. The time might come when she would need to do so, but on the morrow, hopefully, she was going to visit her old friend.

  There was a chance matters could begin to be altered there, which made it too risky to confide in him now. Only if her plans were thwarted could it be an avenue she must pursue. So as she talked, Betsey sought to create a positive rapport, this kept up until the time came for them to part company.

  ‘I hope you will avail Posy of a walk round the lake again, Mr Upton. It is sometimes lonely when I’m out, so it is nice to have someone to talk to.’

  The leather hat came off again. ‘Nice of you to say so, ma’am, and I bid you good day while, like you, hoping for another chance encounter.’

  I can trust him, was her thought, as she turned away, her smile hidden from him and soon from the world. Creevy was in the parterre when she came through the side gate, Betsey was treated to a half-bowed head and a toothless smile. This was returned automatically, albeit with no real warmth. He was not a person to whom she had ever taken, even if it would have to
be admitted that his attendance to his duties, not least in this formal garden, was exemplary.

  Sarah Lovell was waiting as she came through the door, Grady soon appearing to take her hat and cloak, this carried out in silence.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Face-to-face with Trotter, as he entered the parlour, Brazier knew immediately where he had seen him before. The too-large nose and a protruding lower lip, as well as the scrawny body, were printed on his memory, as was the wheezing, when he opened his mouth to speak. What was unprepossessing to begin with had not been improved by the swollen bridge of the nose and the bruises below the eyes, now yellow edged with purple.

  He had first come across him at an inn on the road to Deal, where his hired coachman had stopped to change horses. Daisy had been in the company of John Hawker, though the name was, at that point, unknown. The attitude was not; he had come very close to a fight with Hawker over the most trivial of disputes, the ability to take a free chair in a crowded tavern.

  ‘I’ve seen you afore,’ was Trotter’s opening gambit, his face screwed up in a state of enquiry. ‘But it weren’t just at Cottington. Can’t place it, though.’

  Would it serve to enlighten him? Brazier was far from sure and he knew why Trotter was confused. On the occasion just recalled, he had been in his uniform and had on his distinctive naval scraper. Now he was hatless and in civilian clothes, added to this being a very different setting, so it was only the face that partially registered.

  ‘I think we’d best get to the object you wish to pursue, Trotter,’ came with a gesture offering Daisy to sit.

  ‘Happy standing,’ was his reply.

  That was followed by a worried look, which encompassed the room, as if there might be some danger lurking behind the chairs, settle or the velvet drapes. It was also clear he wished to stay near the door, his host suspecting so as to have a quick exit available. Choosing to stand himself might imply he was justified in his suspicions, so Brazier made a great play of not only taking a seat, but doing so in a manner designed to show he was at ease, sitting well back and crossing his legs. He was also well away from Trotter and he had a sword hidden by the far side of the settle, should that famed knife appear.