A Lawless Place

by David Donachie

  ‘Again?’ was larded with suspicion. ‘And who came up with that notion?’

  That was not an enquiry to which it would be wise to respond so Grady did not. He waited for what was to follow, but that merely turned out as a demand to tell him when they returned.

  ‘I will be in my study. Fetch me some coffee.’

  On the way there, and once settled at his desk, Henry sought to deduce if there had been anything in Upton’s expression to arouse suspicion. The fact that he had, once dismounted, pushed aside the boy sent to bring in his horse, and instead led his own mount into the stables, was singular. He rarely visited the stables or the stud farm, having little interest in matters equine, outside the value gained from the sales.

  With what Creevy had told him, added to a memory of his sister’s love of riding as well as looking after horses, there were good grounds to be suspicious. Elisabeth had spent much time in the stables and, as a young woman, insisted on grooming her own animals and even, on occasion, mucking out their stalls.

  He could well recall the obnoxious stink of horse piss and damp straw that attended her when she came in from carrying out such menial talks. Also a memory was her being distraught when they died, or fell so ill they had to be put out of their misery. It was an attraction he had never understood: a horse was a means of conveyance, nothing else.

  Which took his mind back to Upton. Was there a difference in his attitude, enough to warrant a feeling of disquiet? And then there had been that damned blacksmith banging away at horseshoes to kill any chance of subtle enquiries. He could not put a finger on anything specific, other than a vague suspicion. More pressing was the fact of that second visit to the Colpoys, which could only have been sanctioned by his aunt, and that was troubling. A week ago, she would not have dared act in such a fashion without consulting him first.

  The knock brought him coffee and biscuits, plus the news that he was being called upon by the Reverend Joshua Moyle, which, initially unwelcome, quickly came to be seen as the very opposite: a distraction. After a trying day in which he had travelled far and encountered some success, as well as one intractable problem, the thought of sharing a glass or two with Moyle, whose antics always amused him, appealed.

  There would be no challenge in it, apart from the effort to avoid going glass for glass with the divine, for Joshua Moyle was a toper of quite exceptional ability. His faith was the opposite, skin-deep and wholly to do with self-interest. He would act − and had − in whatever capacity Henry Tulkington wanted in order to keep his living. It was probably the only sentiment wholly shared by his long-suffering wife. Few dispensers of such offices would employ Moyle, while the Church probably reckoned him an embarrassment.

  ‘Best fetch the brandy, Grady, and some wine for me.’

  It was rare to see Moyle sober; even in such a state he looked far from the priest he should be. His clothing tended to the unkempt, his waistcoat a repository for much of the snuff that missed his nostrils. The face was cratered with veins and the hair was wild, grey and unruly. That admitted, he was generally a cheerful soul, but not this day. Having greeted Henry in serious mien, he sat down heavily and addressed him with gravity.

  ‘Had the oddest enquiry today, from the diocese.’

  ‘On what?’

  That got Henry a jaundiced look, as if to say there was only one matter that was germane. ‘About the wedding.’

  Any response had to wait ’til Grady had knocked, come in and placed the drinks ordered on the desk. Eyeing the bottle of brandy, Moyle surprised both when he said in a serious tone, ‘Best stick to coffee for now.’

  ‘That will be all, Grady.’ Door closed, Henry enquired, ‘What kind of query?’

  ‘Was it properly done?’

  ‘And your response?’

  ‘Unequivocally yes, but why was the question being posed?’

  ‘You might know that better than I.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been asked, had there not been someone babbling. I haven’t had a visit from the bishop’s chaplain since I took up my post here. But there he was, yesterday, looking through the register and asking about the weddings I’ve conducted.’

  ‘Of which there are not many, Moyle.’

  There was a pointed reference in that; anyone of social standing locally would not use Cottington for the ceremony, they would apply to St Leonard’s in Upper Deal and, in the odd exception, to St George’s. The Tulkingtons themselves rarely visited, only attending at Christmas, Easter and the various festivals like the Harvest, all occasions that brought to the pews the estate workers. Henry was obliged to attend as lord of the manor.

  ‘Why was he asking, though?’

  ‘What did he say, apart from looking at the register?’

  ‘That it might be time I paid a visit to the Bishop, who, it was pointed out, I had never paid my respects to since his appointment.’

  ‘A short trip to Dover will do you no harm,’ Henry said in a jocular way.

  ‘It’s not amusing. The ceremony I carried out was—’

  The jocose manner evaporated in an instant, as Henry barked, ‘Correct in every way, Moyle.’

  The rheumy eyes watered slightly, a sure sign of self-pity. ‘If you insist on it being so.’

  ‘Which I do. Now for the sake of the Lord, if not the Bishop in Canterbury, have some brandy, lest I think there’s been a second coming.’

  ‘If it’s referred up to the Archbishop, well, what then?’

  Moyle threw up his hands at such a prospect. The supreme head of the Anglican Church was not a man he ever wished to meet. Henry forbore to say the chances were slight from a divine who spent most of his time living in Lambeth Palace, so as to be close to both government and royalty. Because of his near permanent absence, the incumbent in Dover was given oversight of the Canterbury diocese.

  Henry poured a brandy and took it to Moyle, holding it close enough under his nose to allow the fumes to rise. The man was in a faraway mood, no doubt imagining all sorts of ecclesiastical difficulties. His hand took the goblet absent-mindedly and the act of putting to his lips followed in the same manner.

  ‘We must hold steady, Moyle,’ Henry said.

  ‘Aye,’ came with a blast of bottled-up air.

  It occurred to Henry, watching him, that there was a danger of him admitting the truth of Elisabeth’s wedding. It was as likely to come from drunkenness as from guilty sobriety, which was a worry to add to the several he already had. The knock at the door brought Grady again.

  ‘Mrs Lovell and your sister have returned, sir.’

  ‘Do you not mean, Grady,’ came the icy response, ‘Mrs Lovell and Mrs Spafford?’

  The whole contents of Moyle’s brandy glass disappeared down his throat.

  ‘Henry, if she is left to mope around the house she will do something dangerous to test your constraints.’ Sarah Lovell put down her soup spoon and spoke with real emphasis. ‘Let me take her to meet her friends and acquaintances, which will help to lance her frustrations. Elisabeth needs time.’

  Henry, looking into his own bowl, wanted to respond by saying she needed the whip and always had, but that was held back. He was seeking to adjust to his aunt’s very obvious and new-found air of confidence. Previously, she had ever been careful to avoid direct eye contact; now she was looking at him in a manner very close to being a test. Yet he could hardly argue against her point regarding time being a healer, one he himself had cogitated upon.

  ‘Perhaps Elisabeth and I should speak to each other directly.’

  ‘I doubt she would readily agree.’

  ‘Then I look to you to persuade her,’ he snarled.

  Again, there was the difference: instead of being cowed by his blast of frustration she held his gaze, as if to say to him, such a request is mine to accede to or deny.

  ‘I have things to convey to her, which I think might mitigate her hostility.’

  They had to wait while servants came to remove the soup plates and put before them the broiled chi
cken, potatoes and vegetables that had been ordered for dinner. Then Grady had to pour the right wine for that course before withdrawing, having ensured all was well.

  ‘Those things are?’

  ‘Certain facts I have come across, Aunt Sarah, which may temper this mad passion for that damned sailor.’

  ‘Henry!’

  He did apologise for his language, but it was perfunctory: a man had a right to blaspheme in his own house. ‘Let me just say, Brazier is not the paragon Elisabeth sees him to be.’

  ‘He is ten times the man you will ever be, Henry.’

  That came from the doorway, in which Betsey stood, her face a mask of fury. If she thought it would throw her brother, she was mistaken. He produced one of those humourless smiles she so detested.

  ‘I wonder if you will hold to that when he’s being taken up the Newgate steps, to have a rope put round his neck. Or will you choose, unlike myself, to bear witness to the justified demise of a convicted murderer?’

  It was Henry’s turn to be thrown as Betsey let forth with a laugh. ‘I never had you down for a fool, Henry. A misery, yes—’

  ‘Close the damned door!’ A shocked Sarah Lovell put her napkin to her mouth, though whether it was brought on by blasphemy or noise was unknowable. ‘Are we to have our conversations held in the hearing of the servants?’

  ‘Why hide from them what they already know, Brother, and have done since you were first able to talk? Your servants despise you as much as I now do. To think I recommended so recently that you should seek a wife. God forbid such a fate should befall one of my sex.’

  ‘Perhaps I should bring Spafford back to Cottington and lock you both in a room. Would you be so spirited then, I wonder?’

  ‘If you do, I should send for an undertaker, for one of us will not emerge alive.’

  With that the door was slammed, with Sarah Lovell opining in a soft and very disapproving voice, ‘Henry, such references are untoward.’

  The day had started well and gone to the bad. First his frustration at not being able to extract proper redress from Sowerby, then coming home to his suspicions of Upton and getting nowhere. The annoyance of finding both his sister and aunt out of the house without this permission rankled. Finally came Moyle and his fear of the damned bishop. Put together it was enough to make his blood boil. It certainly had an effect on his response to being checked on the matter of carnality.

  ‘Aunt Sarah, it has never been my way to tell you to shut up, although it is often warranted, but I do so now. Either stick to eating your dinner, or go and leave me in peace.’

  Henry was never to know that in her new-found confidence she addressed him as she would her absent husband, just as she would never acknowledge the possibility that her constant carping, which had been bad before he lost all their money but had made her a termagant afterwards, might be what had driven him away.

  ‘I will leave you, Henry. But in peace? That, I doubt you deserve.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  If there had been little wisdom in observing Home Farm, there was possibly even less in what Brazier did when the coach had departed. Dutchy, who had him in view, saw him rise up and head down the hill, there being little doubt where he was headed, which had him call to the others.

  ‘We’re under way, lads, and, I reckon, heading for stormy waters.’

  ‘Well, leastways, I won’t be seasick,’ Pedder complained. ‘There be owt in my gut to puke up.’

  He was at the gate by the time they were halfway down the hill, with Dutchy calling a halt. ‘We can see from here if there be trouble.’

  The dogs alerted the occupants of the farm to Brazier’s presence, rushing to bark through the bars of the gate with more excitement than threat. Of the few people around there was one elderly fellow, with a long pipe in his mouth, who saw it as his duty to come and enquire of his business. As he was approaching, Brazier caught sight of a trio of young faces, full of curiosity, at an upstairs window.

  ‘I would like to see Mrs Colpoys.’

  ‘And who should I say is a’calling sir?’

  ‘Just tell her it’s a naval officer. She will require no more. And also tell her I will not depart until we have spoken.’

  The old fellow blinked and his jaw started working as he sought to make sense of the reply by chewing. But whether it eluded him, or fired his imagination, he did as he was bid and went to the front door of the house, a servant answering his knock. It made Brazier curious as to why they had not responded before. They must have heard the dogs, now wagging their tails and competing for affection.

  It was several minutes before Annabel Colpoys came to the door to look out at him, but she failed to move from there or indicate that he should enter, her confusion obvious. Tempted to shout and reassure her, he stopped himself; that would probably drive her back indoors. Finally, she must have decided having him in the house was more discreet than any public exchange, so she told the servant to fetch him in.

  Brazier was struck again by a touch of nostalgia on entry, for if the exterior of the farm and house evoked memories, so did the interior. There was none of the finery of Cottington: this was a working, occupied household and if the furniture was of decent quality, it showed it had been subjected to human usage. It felt like home.

  ‘I promise not to stay long.’

  ‘You’d better not, for my husband will be home shortly and he is prone to the horsewhip if aroused.’

  It would not serve to say he would be prone to a ducking or a clout with a club if he tried, so he acknowledged the right. He was, after all, a strange man, by his hearth, with his wife when he was absent. People had been shot for less.

  ‘I saw your visitors come and go.’

  ‘I guessed as much, otherwise you would not be here.’

  ‘I need to know—’

  She cut across him. ‘Betsey has been told of the delivery.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’ came querulously. ‘I suppose you wish to know if there was a response. Well, let me tell you, even to allude to you with Betsey’s aunt present was impossible. I am sure I managed to convey to her that you are not downhearted.’

  ‘Hardly true,’ he said softly.

  ‘You know what I mean. That you are determined to save her. How that is to be achieved, I do not know and neither do I want to know. Now, you have come for that which you required. Oblige me by departing.’

  ‘I want—’

  ‘Captain Brazier, I have already told you I am not prepared to be your messenger.’

  ‘Then be Betsey’s. All I ask is that you find out if she is willing to be rescued from Cottington Court. By the fact she has an armed escort, I suspect it cannot be done elsewhere without great risk.’

  ‘Armed escort?’

  Which meant she had not seen them; explained, it did nothing to cheer her mood. ‘This will end badly.’

  ‘It depends on for whom. Find out if she’s willing and leave the rest to me. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘In itself, it is a great deal.’

  ‘If I were to call again in a couple of days …’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because it might embarrass you with your husband?’

  ‘Are you witless? You have already embarrassed me with my husband. Do you not think he will hear of the calling of a stranger, one I invited into his house? He will be told of it as soon as he returns and, if not by one of the farm hands, then by a servant.’

  ‘Or perhaps your children, whom I saw at their window.’ She slowly shook her head. ‘Surely you can explain?’

  ‘You do not know my Roger.’

  ‘I can stay and do so, if you wish.’

  That got a small, breathy laugh. ‘Go, please. I doubt I will be able to deliver your message, but I will try for the sake of my dear friend.’

  ‘And how will I know the answer?’

  ‘You must leave me to find a way to solve that. But oblige me by never calling at Home Farm again. I want that as a promis
e, for I believe you to be a man of your word.’

  ‘You have it, and thank you. How much better it would have been if we’d become acquainted at a wedding.’

  Once he had gone, Annabel sat and pondered for an age; that was until the children, free of any lessons, their afternoon session having ended, created too much noise to easily think. Oddly, it was that which provided the possible solution. Sarah Lovell had as good as invited her and them over to play in the woods. What better place to find out what she needed to know?

  The next problem was how to deal with her husband, who came barrelling in, riding crop waving, to demand why she was receiving strangers in the house. ‘Don’t you mean strange men, Roger?’

  That calm enquiry threw him; he was all set for meek explanation. Her soft tone he found harder to deal with than noisy defiance. ‘It’s damned unbecoming. What happens if it gets talked about?’

  ‘The person most likely to talk about it is you.’ Seeing him about to explode, she did finally shout. ‘Do you think so lowly of me that you would harbour doubts about my virtue, or allow anyone to impugn it? Perhaps Henry Tulkington will be able to say to you what he likes, and you will meekly accept it.’

  ‘I’m damned if I know what you mean.’

  Her voice dropped, but now it held a note of sadness. ‘Don’t you, Roger?’

  ‘I’ve a damn good notion to let you feel this crop.’

  ‘Do so, Husband, if it serves to make you feel like a man.’ He had it up in the air ready to strike, seemingly oblivious to the three young and alarmed faces just outside the door. ‘But that would be better served by taking it to the man just mentioned. The pity is, you don’t dare.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I know, Roger. I want to ask you to tell me how I should feel about it. If you will not defend yourself, will you do that for me or the children?’ She had stopped him, it was in his eyes, slowly more obvious as the crop dropped to his side. ‘Let me tell you what he has done to his own sister.’

  ‘I won’t hear a word against the fellow,’ were words lacking in force.