When she reflected on his motives it was impossible not to feel a slight sense of shame, this reinforced by the sounds from above her head as her trio of children rushed noisily across the wooden floorboards of the schoolroom until a shout came from their tutor, which also penetrated, for them to get back to their desks. The feeling that her man could not, or would not, stand up for himself was the cause.
It had become obvious at some time past that Roger, in dispute with Henry Tulkington over a boundary, had been subjected to a thrashing. It had never been established who was responsible; indeed, once the contusions had faded, it was not acknowledged as to have taken place at all. He had been drinking, it had happened and was put down to an unknown assailant.
But Annabel knew Betsey’s brother was the source, even if it could not be openly referred to, just by the manner in which Roger’s behaviour had altered. Always in something of a passion – it was in his nature and doubly relevant when fuelled by drink – he had abruptly ceased to curse the Tulkington name and his intention to issue a challenge, to become seemingly fearful of having it even pronounced in any negative sense within his own walls.
Which begged the question, where was his pride? Where was the protection he owed to her and their children? She had no doubt he knew who had done the deed and, if it was not Henry himself, it had been meted out on his instructions. She could see him now in her mind’s eye, in times long past, the streak of melancholy that she, Betsey and their childhood friends had mercilessly guyed. Could cheerless Henry really have turned into a person capable of that which he stood accused?
Reading the note again, and Betsey’s pleas, she wondered at what was being asked of Brazier. ‘I know you came as promised, will you come again?’ What did that mean? Did Betsey hope to be rescued by a raid on Cottington Court, or was the request he employ the law against her brother the real purpose? The resolve to act came and went, yet what finally made Annabel Colpoys decide upon delivery was not the needs of Betsey.
She would act for the sake of her own family pride: if the man of the house would not uphold it, then she must.
There was another letter on the subject, this one in the act of being written, it being of proper length and containing several carefully crafted queries. Dirley Tulkington had to be cautious; he did not know the circumstances of this sudden decision by Elisabeth to wed, only what Henry had imparted, though a recollection of his demand, delivered with confidence and supercilious manner, rendered him apprehensive.
Even if it made no sense to his logical and legal mind, he was aware infatuation could make a fool of anyone, leading them to chuck overboard the values by which they lived. It was a thing he had never succumbed to himself but had seen it too often to lightly dismiss. Thus he had to congratulate his niece, while expressing surprise at her actions.
When asking about her new spouse, it was necessary to act as if he was the silver-tongued paragon reported and one he was looking forward to meeting. This he penned while enquiring if he came with any assets of his own, property or investments, which Dirley would be happy, now he was a member of the family, to take care of.
Delicacy had to be employed in the matter of the West Indian plantations, an admission that, while he respected her original intentions, he did not necessarily agree with them. That said, he would be happy to comply with her wishes in the matter of disposal. If her new husband desired they should be retained and that Henry should take over management, that too was a properly exercised right. He would, if it was preferred, offer his own services in that regard.
Finally, it was necessary to express a wish the newly-weds should visit London, where it would be his pleasure to entertain them and to celebrate their nuptials for a second time. Though not stated, he trusted Elisabeth to see it would also provide an opportunity for her to discuss matters with him, free of the interlocution of her brother.
The point took him back to the legal document he had drawn up at Henry’s request, for there was a clause in there that stipulated the arrangement was only at the discretion of the rightful proprietor. It could be revoked by that person at any time they chose. Instinct, and the mood of Henry just witnessed, told him his nephew would not like it, but he would defend it on the grounds of proper legality; no right could be given away in perpetuity, and it was made plain this was the client’s wish. In this case, he was acting to protect Elisabeth should anything untoward happen to this Harry Spafford.
If the quill stopped occasionally, it was to reflect on the way he saw the family of which he was a tenuous part. Could he really consider himself as such? If he kept a distance from Cottington Court for his own reasons, he had often been put out by the seemingly reciprocal disinterest.
Apart from two occasions already recalled, invitations to visit were non-existent, by which he could only conclude that if he did not wish to be reminded of his bastard status, neither did they. Not that he would have accepted an invite; that was beside the point. It annoyed him never to have been afforded the opportunity to politely decline a request to visit a place of which he had few fond memories.
He had enjoyed a fairly happy childhood, running in the streets of Deal with his younger brothers, as mischievous as was natural, all of which ceased when the family moved to Cottington Court. His father he recalled as a rough diamond, but also an extremely active and successful runner of contraband. From that had come the funds, not only to buy the estate, but to raise it back to what it had once been, a grand manor house and a productive farm.
It had also paid for proper schooling, which came with an ever-ready birch, as well as the various attributes seen as necessary to claim to be a gentleman. So it had been goodbye to freedom and innocent fun. What mattered was a good seat on a horse plus an ability to wield a sword, a smattering of Greek and Latin, added to enough fluency in French to hold a conversation, this rounded off by training in rhetoric.
Out went the grabbing of food at will and at any time of the day. Proper dinner times were imposed and bad table manners earned a cuff round the ear. Then there came the need to be at ease with a multitude of servants whose manners seemed better than those who paid them. Not that mere possession of the estate, extensive restoration and the schooling of the next generation had conferred respectability.
To begin with, few, if any, of the local gentry had taken to the Tulkingtons as neighbours. But time and money provided the grease that broke down even the most intractable barriers. It had done so for the family, as it had for him in London. Working at arm’s length with Acton, he had set up the systems that made their business secure. Dirley had thus profited from a double source of income, funds put to use in the metropolis to both enhance his standing and to protect the enterprise in which they were engaged.
He was a shrewd and successful card player, often up against people who were not, though woefully short on any realisation of their incapacities. This meant Dirley had, in his files, un-redeemed promissory notes meant to cover losses sustained by those against whom he played.
Many were people of power, members of both the Houses of Parliament who required a facade of wealth to maintain their dignity, even if it was, in truth, hollow. Never pressing for repayment allowed Dirley to apply subtle pressure on those who would struggle to settle, in order to ensure certain matters went his way.
As of this moment, and not mentioned to his nephew, he was manoeuvring to have appointed the right kind of person to the sinecure of the Riding Officer of Kent Customs. The present incumbent was elderly and showing signs of failing health, while Dirley was sure William Pitt would be seeking to replace him, should he expire, with someone willing to be active in the office.
This was the last thing required for the family enterprise. The post should be filled with someone like the fellow who held it now: disinclined to leave London, unless it was to go to his country estates, comfortable only in a carriage so never mounted, and unwilling to pay properly the person he contracted to carry out the duties.
The solution mig
ht lie, in many cases, if not exclusively, in those promissory notes. There were enough votes in parliament to stymie Pitt on a matter in which the requirement for personal prosperity would trump any sense of duty to the nation. That was a sentiment, in any case, not much prevalent on the Westminster benches.
Pitt was in the business of abolishing sinecures and the monies they earned to ease the burden on the public purse. For those who stood to gain from one of the many that existed, stopping the King’s First Minister was both a duty and a financial necessity. A little discreet pressure on a few key votes should ensure the right outcome.
The letter to Elisabeth was reread, sanded, folded and sealed, to be handed over to a clerk to see posted, along with a bundle tied with a red ribbon.
‘This you’re to take to Nerot’s Hotel, where my nephew is residing. There should be no need to wait for a reply.’
For Annabel Colpoys to go into Lower Deal was far from straightforward; it was necessary to invent an excuse to descend on a place rarely visited and it could not be done discreetly. Such a visit required the use of the carriage, a vehicle only taken out when going to church or visiting friends. It also involved harnessing two of the better horses, while taking from the stables a groom to act as coachman, as well as a young lad to ride postilion, both clad in decent livery. None of that could be done without Roger finding out.
She was relying on disinterest, for her husband was not one to over enquire when it came to matters domestic. It was she who saw to the employment and overseeing of servants, not that such was onerous, given those she possessed fulfilled their needs and had been with the Colpoys family for a long time. Annabel made sure the larder and the coal shed were stocked by regular deliveries and, wine being separate, it was she who wrote up the household accounts, though Roger, once he had examined the sums, disbursed the funds to pay.
The commands given and all arranged, the coach set off on the downward slope to the lower town, with various excuses being tried and tested, until the correct one surfaced. Roger maintained he was not a man to merely lay out the money required to keep the house in provender and candles. He claimed an eagle eye for an error, but an even sharper one for being overcharged. It was a little less than true: Annabel was ever able to supplement her pin money by slight exaggerations in the family budget, presenting Roger with the figures when he had consumed at least a bottle.
She took the coach to the fields at the rear of St George’s Church and, leaving it there, made her way through the graveyard, past a knot of gin-drinking young ruffians, to enter the church by one of the side entrances. A few moments at a pew, hands clasped in prayer, were necessary before she made her way out of the front door.
In the bustling street, she had to wait ’til a gap appeared in the near endless line of horse-drawn carts, vans and the odd coach, one big enough to allow the crossing sweeper the chance to clear a path through the dung, also sufficient to cross without getting too much of the horse droppings on the pedestrian foot.
Quebec House she knew, having delivered a note previously, one that showed Brazier a way to discretely enter the grounds of Cottington Court to meet Betsey without using the main gate. Not that she had met him, merely handing it to his smiling servant, saying who it was from, before hurrying away. That, she felt, would not serve now.
‘I am calling in the hope of speaking with Captain Edward Brazier.’
‘Who should I say is calling, ma’am?’ asked Joe Lascelles.
‘Mrs Colpoys. I have reason to hope the name will be known to him.’
Seeing quality, Joe nodded. ‘Will you enter please?’
It was a grateful Annabel who acceded; a public street was no place to stand and wait, which might give unseen eyes a reason to wonder why. Even with her anxieties, she entered the parlour as would any one of her sex, with an eye for the waxed pine panelling, the quality of the furniture, the drapes and the paintings that filled the walls, deciding it was very much the abode of someone masculine.
Likewise judged, when he entered the room, was Brazier. Annabel took in a height that obliged him to duck under the lintel of the door, as well as the build of a man not wanting for physical strength. Black hair tied back in a queue, he was dressed in a white linen shirt, which exaggerated what could be described as a saturnine visage. But he did not smile, which told Annabel he was unsure of the nature of the call.
‘Mrs Colpoys, we meet at last. Betsey spoke of you and I believe I owe to you our ability to share time together.’
‘Captain. I come to see you on behalf of our mutual friend.’
‘I had hoped it was so when your name was passed to me.’
The fellow who had opened the front door came to hover just enough so his shoulder could be seen by Brazier, which probably prompted the offer of refreshments.
‘Forgive me, Captain, but I cannot linger.’ The note came out from her hand muffs. ‘I bring you this from dear Betsey.’
It was taken eagerly, but Brazier paused. ‘Do you wish me to read it while you’re present?’
‘It would please me to enquire on certain things, but I must warn you, there seems little possibility of a reply. This was not passed to me openly, but pressed under a cushion when Betsey came to call.’
‘She can call?’
‘The note will tell you, she suspects only in the company of her Aunt Sarah.’
‘Please, sit.’
Which she did as Brazier went to the window, where there was more light, to open and read what Betsey had written. Watching him, Annabel saw the broad shoulders sag slightly and the head go forward, to rest on the cold glass of a pane.
‘It is not easy to believe.’
Brazier came round slowly to reply, ‘On the contrary, Mrs Colpoys, for if you say that, it tells me you do not know Henry Tulkington very well.’
‘I’ve known him for many a year.’
‘Time alone would not reveal his nature.’ The note was waved. ‘This does.’
‘Can it be reversed?’ Annabel asked, biting her lips, as if in fear of his reply.
‘If it can, I’m at a loss to know how.’
He followed that with an explanation of the legal position as explained to him, added to the fact of no one to witness.
‘Betsey intimates in her note that you were present. Is that the case?’
‘I was, but not at the time that mattered.’ As he explained, which was, of necessity, complex, he could see Annabel Colpoys fidgeting and glancing towards the hallway door. What else to say to her?
‘If Betsey can get a note to you once, she may do so again.’
‘Captain, I am taking a great risk in calling here.’
‘I must be able to communicate with you in case she does.’ The note was waved again. ‘I also need to reply to this, if to do no more than offer some reassurance she is not alone. But I sense I have no time to compose anything, even on the off chance it will get into her hand.’
She was on her feet. ‘I’m afraid, as much as I love Betsey, I cannot oblige you by becoming a go-between.’
‘Am I permitted to ask why?’
‘No, Captain, you are not, but you must just accept my word it is so. Now, if you will forgive me …’
‘Of course. Do you require to be accompanied? I have men here who will do so.’
‘No, an escort might set tongues wagging. Now I must bid you goodbye, though I admit it was good to put a face to the person Betsey so esteems.’
‘Joe, show the lady out.’
As Annabel Colpoys exited Quebec House, Brazier dashed out to the back, to where Dutchy, Peddler and Cocky were sitting throwing dice and either crowing or cursing.
‘Dutchy, the woman who’s just leaving, I need her followed. If you move quickly you’ll spot her before she gets to a corner.’
His old coxswain moved with a speed that belied his size, as Brazier called after him to tell of the colour of the cloak she was wearing, while ignoring the enquiring looks he was getting from the others. Then he went
back into the parlour, to drag a chair to the window so he could reread Betsey’s words.
He took in for the first time that the paper seemed stained, which led him to wonder if the cause was tears. But one thing was certain: he must find a way to communicate with her, and if Annabel Colpoys was reluctant to the point of a downright refusal, she looked like the only conduit available.
‘Where the devil have you been? I’ve been going mad here waiting for you.’
The look that got was one of irritation from Dutchy Holland. ‘You said follow the woman and I did.’
‘Where? To the moon?’
‘To where she resides,’ Dutchy snapped, ‘an’ given that was well more’n a mile away, and with me having to trot to keep up with her damned coach, I hope you don’t mind if I stopped on the way back for a pot of ale, to ease my thirst.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
John Hawker had laid his plans for Edward Brazier but had other work to do, and not only in the collection of taxes. With a shipment due it meant various measures had to be put in place. First, he had to extract some of his men from guarding the Spafford gang, to be sent to various places, with an eye being kept out for any unusual activity by the Revenue. As they operated out of Dover, any sight of their cutter being prepared for sea would be noted: better if it was secured to the jetty with no sign of it being manned.
The men who crewed it lived locally, so it was known where they ate and drank, not that they were in any way loved. Their talk, always loose and of interest, could often warn of any impending movements while at the same time various souls, the kind who ever seemed to know what was afoot, were pumped for information.
A Lawless Place Page 16