A Lawless Place

by David Donachie

  ‘You set out to help her?’ was asked with some relief, but there was no need to answer the question Upton posed. A nod sufficed.

  ‘Escape, sir. Plan was to get her out through the north gate, but we must have been seen plotting, for Mr Henry was awaiting when I came back from talking with Miss Elisabeth and there was never a chance to lay out an excuse.’

  ‘Did she give you a message for me?’

  ‘Never had the chance.’

  ‘Then I’m curious as to what brought you to my door?’

  ‘Her instruction. That if anything went awry and I suffered, I was to come here. Go to Quebec House, she told me, an’ if I had trouble a’finding it—’

  ‘You’re here now,’ was designed to stop another litany.

  ‘Am I to throw myself on your charity, your honour?’

  ‘I daresay Betsey would want it, so that is how it will be. But I had hoped for some words for me personally.’

  ‘Might be in possession of sommat better.’

  ‘Which is?’

  The tankard was laid aside and his sack of possessions pulled to sit between his feet. A rummage produced that which he was seeking and, as it came out, it produced in Brazier only confusion.

  ‘Key, your honour, opens the padlock on the north gate.’

  ‘From which side?’

  Upton had not thought of that for his face showed concern. ‘Inside.’

  Brazier stood to take it from his hand, feeling the weight and pondering. ‘You will berth here, Mr Upton. One of my men will show you where you will sleep.’

  John Hawker’s intentions were not without risk. He had to take away early, from the slaughterhouse, enough of his men to overcome Brazier and his support, without leaving so few that it hindered keeping a firm grip on Spafford and his lot. That would be difficult, given they would be assembled to be the lead element of the mob.

  That was a task his employer would have wanted him to undertake himself, to get things moving before fading out of view, but he could not be in two places at once. Not for the first time, he was glad of the distance from Cottington to Deal − not, in truth, great, but enough to deter Henry Tulkington from being a constant presence.

  The latest information he had from one of his scouts was that Brazier had returned home from visiting a neighbour and he and his men were within Quebec House, seemingly settled, so it was possible to time how matters would be handled. As soon as twilight was well advanced, he could move to take his revenge, surprise being his advantage.

  ‘We go in through the window and quick, in case the door has a chain. The noise will alert the street, but we must not care for that. I have my pistol, which I will use if we are threatened by one holding the same, but I want it to be clubs and a proper thrashin’ for all, no exceptions. Timed right, we’ll have done the necessary and be on our way afore the crowd gets close.’

  ‘Don’t we get to take part in the torchin’, John?’ asked Marker, one of his most trusted men.

  ‘You might, I best not.’

  ‘Face too well known?’

  He was not going to say what he had been ordered to do.

  ‘You have the right of it there. Now you lot spread out and see if we can put some fire into a few beach folk bellies. Get them proper fired up and willing to burn the bastard out, but listen out for the bells of St George’s, an’ when they strike seven, I want them setting a light to torches and you back here.’

  As usual, when the day’s work drew to a close for those who worked the beach, it was time to claim your spot in your favourite drinking den, to swap ale and a tale with your mates. The women who vended fish had been ensconced for hours, having packed up their stalls much earlier, salting what fish they had failed to sell and dropping both crabs and lobsters into creels, left far enough out from the beach to be underwater for the night.

  When it came to raging against perceived injustice, no one could hold a candle to the Deal fishwife and they were just as partisan on behalf of their menfolk, fathers, husbands and sons. Many of those subsisted in a meagre existence, but for the occasional run across the Channel. It was a fair bet they knew the names of the fellows who had done for and buried that too-nosy exciseman, but it would never pass their lips, barring a whisper in the ear of one known to be safe.

  The other thing in which they could match their men was in consumption of drink, gin being their favoured tipple. Having had a couple of hours’ head start, they were ripe for stirring up by the likes of Marker, especially since he was willing to stand a flask or two. By the time the menfolk joined them, the fuse had been well and truly lit for activity instead of talk. Brazier being chastised had gone from if to when, the only pity being they could not get Billy Pitt at the same time.

  Dan Spafford was rubbing chafed and sore wrists, which had been in shackles for days now. He had no difficulty in doing what was being asked of him; getting free was the most important thing. He needed to earn, so he needed to smuggle, and then there was his boy. There was no way to get Harry free of Tulkington if he was chained up or, if Hawker got his way, rooming with Davy Jones in his locker.

  Finally rejoining his men, he was glad to see the relief on their faces, for him being free meant they were too and it did not have to be said. Most were convinced they had been for slaughter and the pork barrel, so it was not a surprise that one or two had a tear, thinking they had avoided such a fate. The first thing he did was ask how the hell they had come to be here in the first place, listening with increasing gloom as he heard what had happened while he was locked in Tulkington’s cellar, which included being told about another party of hard-looking souls getting involved, one of whom had a pistol pointed at Tulkington’s head, with no other explanation provided.

  With so many seeking to explain, what they sought to describe was garbled and unclear. That it was beyond odd just had to be accepted. More important was what was to be done now, the tale of which produced some very glum faces, a sentiment he shared but which had to be put aside.

  ‘You will know it don’t sit well with me to do Tulkington’s bidding, but do it we will, for once it’s over we can get back to our own hearth.’

  ‘Will Daisy be there?’ asked Dolphin Morgan, called that because he was reckoned to be as dense as the wood of the beach berthing posts.

  ‘Since I has been as locked away as you have, an’ he ain’t here, I don’t know how you reckon me to answer that.’

  ‘Just wondering. If he weren’t with you and he weren’t with us …’

  ‘It could mean he’s free.’

  ‘Or pegged it.’

  ‘Remind me, when I’m low, to ask you to cheer me up. Now, listen hard you all, this is what we’re set to do.’

  On a warm evening with twilight coming – there was a southerly wind blowing up from Spain – and a gut replete with gin as reward, Hawker’s watching urchin, sitting with his back to the Navy Yard wall, nodded off. So he did not see the five souls exit Quebec House, making their way to the corner, turning down towards the Lower Valley Road. Left behind, by agreement, was the former head groom, who was not much of a drinking man and was also so happy to have a room to sleep in.

  It was as if he feared to go through the front door, lest he never get back in again. Upton felt he might have landed on his feet, for the man Miss Elisabeth had sent him to was going to talk to another, called Flaherty, who had a set of paddocks and stables, about giving him a place.

  Part of the reason for going out was so they could talk without Upton being given a chance to overhear their discussion. What to do with the acquired key, which Brazier had in his pocket?’ The card room was out for them as a group, but the main tavern area was quiet, it being early for the kind of clientele who favoured the Old Playhouse.

  As soon as they were sat round a table with drinks in front, it was Peddler who said what was at the back of more than one mind, if not Brazier’s. Was it not a bit too convenient, the key turning up as it had, with a fellow not one of them knew, apart from wha
t he himself had related?

  ‘Sorry, Capt’n, wishing for him to be an honest fellow don’t make it so.’

  ‘Good way to catch us, knowing how we’ll get in?’ Dutchy added, emboldened by what Peddler had said.

  ‘We don’t have to get in that way,’ Brazier insisted. ‘Walls like that will not stop us using grappling irons.’

  ‘But the getting out,’ Dutchy added. ‘Can’t see your lady hauling herself up a rope like a boarder.’

  Peddler wasn’t finished. ‘Caught in the act of abductin’. Must be a tariff in irons for that.’

  ‘She would save us from that,’ Joe said.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a trap,’ Brazier insisted, partly in desperation. ‘But if you fear to go along …’

  ‘Now that, Capt’n,’ protested an offended Cocky Logan, ‘is no fair.’

  Dutchy made a strong point. ‘We got out last time, Capt’n, by the skin of our teeth. Without we had that Hawker sod as hostage we would have been done for.’

  ‘Joe, your opinion?’

  ‘If I smell a rat, Capt’n, I am minded to set it a trap.’

  It was a discussion that went round in circles for an age as the light outside faded towards night, with the bells of St George’s Church ringing the quarter, half and the hour. In Quebec House, having spent the previous night under a hedge, Upton was happy to lay down and sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Perhaps if the night had been cold, or the wind had been coming in from the north-east, the one generally icy and feared locally for its ability to drag ships from their anchors, the riot John Hawker was seeking to create would have fizzled out like a damp squib. But the southerly was warm enough to add need to a thirst, while being outdoors − even as night fell − seemed the right and comfortable place to be.

  Dan Spafford had led his men out of the slaughterhouse, to take up station halfway between the town and Sandown Castle. He was watching for the first sign of congregating, easy to spot, as folk would do so under the flaring exterior torches of the numerous taverns that lined Beach Street. There was barely a corner, or indeed a row of houses, which lacked a place to drink, while some boasted more than one.

  Within them were not only locals, but sailors having a run ashore from their merchant ships, added to some just paid off and spending heavily, as newly ashore tars always did. If they were not concerned by the notion of anybody seeking to control smuggling, they were of a breed ever ready for disturbance, and which port that took place in made no difference.

  Thus, when the grumbling became louder, they were quick to pick up on the mood and see sport in it. Not content to merely watch, they began to egg on the local malcontents, calling their intentions feeble, which was not an affront to be borne. The first angry group began to form outside the Albion, a favourite watering hole for the Deal fishwives. That was soon joined by others, the flaring of smaller individual torches the signal for the Spafford gang to move.

  Closer to the town centre, word began to spread of trouble brewing, which had Garlick, in double-quick time, getting up and fitting the stout wooden storm shutters on the windows of the Three Kings. He was not alone: there were other hostelries that were not mere drinking dens, and these too had well-worn drills to protect themselves – normally from a raging sea bursting over the beach, but also irate humans when the need arose.

  At the Navy Yard, the officer on duty got wind of trouble and roused out everyone under his command who could wield a marlinspike. He doubled the marine guard on the gate and ensured those needed to back up that position were close enough to do so, and quickly. There was no requirement to protect anything other than that which was navy: the town could burn and the service would stay where it was.

  Yet, when Admiral Braddock was informed of what was afoot, he had a quartet of marines, with instructions to shoot their weapons if necessary, despatched to the roadway leading to Miss Carter’s house opposite the yard, to ensure protection for her property. Saoirse Riorden got the news fairly quickly and was thus able to alert the pair of stout and ferocious-looking doormen who manned the entrance. They were told to be extra vigilant but, if it looked too hard to contain, they were to shut the thick double doors and bolt them, locking everyone inside.

  She then went to tell those already present. Brazier spotted her as she came through the door, but it was some time before she got to his table, nodding to the quartet with him whom she had met once before.

  ‘I have come to tell you there’s trouble brewing.’

  ‘Story o’ his life, lady,’ said Cocky.

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ Brazier asked.

  ‘Could be we’re in for a bit of a riot and don’t you be asking me the cause.’

  ‘You know everything that’s going on in the town, or so I’m told.’

  ‘That will be Vincent indulging in flattery.’

  He couldn’t resist it. ‘Flattery from a Flaherty.’

  ‘That’s not the best witticism you ever produced, even if it has your lads smiling. I’ll be thinking you tars are light in the article of drollery.’

  ‘There has to be a reason,’ Brazier insisted, as the smiles disappeared.

  ‘Sure, did you not hear? I don’t know. Had a feeling there was something brewing this day, but what it’s about?’ She shrugged and tightened her lips. ‘Anyway, it’s not come our way yet. But if it does and it looks bad, I’ll be locking and barring the door, so if you’re planning to leave, now’s as good a time as any.’

  A look around the table established they were happy where they were and, with a wry smile and pat to Brazier’s shoulder, she moved on.

  ‘She’s a fine lookin’ woman,’ Peddler said, to general agreement. ‘Has a soft spot for you, Capt’n.’

  Brazier held up the key, which had been in his hand so long the metal was now warm, before challenging the amused looks he was getting from round the table. ‘Let’s stick to the business at hand, shall we?’

  Basil the Bulgar’s Molly-house emptied quickly, the customers dispersing when told something was brewing. It was too often a handy target for those who saw its purpose as devilish or unclean. Daisy Trotter was one of those who had no desire to be caught inside but, out in the fresh air, he felt safe enough to wander up to Beach Street, to see how things were progressing. He took the view that, although a disturbance was brewing, it had yet to get beyond the point of being stationary and the shouting of grievances. Still, knowing the intended destination, he was again assailed by the same quandary. Should he go to Quebec House and warn Brazier, or let him suffer for his arrogance?

  John Hawker was approaching that very address as Daisy pondered, glad to see the shutters open and a lantern light within. A peer through the low window showed the front parlour was empty, so he raised an arm to call forward his men, all of whom were in possession of long and sturdy clubs. The crash as the first of those broke glass was enough to wake the dead, the splintering of wood from the frames holding the small panes less obvious.

  Enough of the thin strips of wood were shattered to allow the rest to be displaced by boots, so in less than half a minute, Hawker’s brutes had pushed their way inside, to be followed by John Hawker, with his primed and loaded pistol. There was no need for him to issue any orders now, his men knew what to do: clobber the tars as hard as they liked but not Brazier. The man bent on revenge wanted him at his feet and begging to avoid his just deserts.

  Stood in the parlour waiting, the sound of rushing feet and shouting was evident, but Hawker was not hearing conflict. He had no doubt that Brazier and the men he employed were hard bargains themselves, and would put up a fight even against clubs, but that meant screaming and shouting. It was even more troubling when the house fell silent, to soon resound with the thud of boots moving downstairs at a steady pace.

  ‘No sign, John,’ Marker said as he entered the parlour, having hesitated briefly in the face of a pointed pistol. ‘They’re not here.’

  The other men had trooped in behind to cro
wd the doorway, one admitting he had found one cove on the top floor, not one of those they were seeking, but had given him a good clubbing anyway.

  ‘Out,’ Hawker barked, wondering how he had not been informed. What he then said, in a bitter voice, made little sense to those who heard it. ‘By the blood of Christ, I’ll have those little buggers pay for this.’

  They exited to a deserted street; if any of the neighbours had been disturbed, and they must have been, they were not going to come out of their front doors to investigate what sounded like violence. So they would not have seen the dark-clad figures moving swiftly if noiselessly toward the town centre. It was quite some time before, after a long period of silence, one ventured out to look at the smashed window frame and then decide it was none of his concern.

  Dan Spafford had moved, seeking to mingle with the knots of those whining for retribution outside the taverns. His shouts that it was time for action got many a cheer. This alerted those ahead that things were warming up and made them ready to be receptive to joining an increasingly numerous crowd. Spafford, torch in hand, was to the fore, to be spotted by Daisy Trotter who, heart pounding and tears forming, rushed to meet him, yelling his name.

  ‘You’re free, Dan.’ The cries of greeting from the others he ignored, getting alongside his friend, hooking an arm and matching his pace, unable to make sense of what he had just become part of and having to shout to make himself heard. ‘How has this come about?’

  ‘Tulkington’s price, Daisy. We’ve got to burn out some poor bastard who’s got the wrong side of him. That done, we’re free.’

  ‘Of the name of Brazier?’ Daisy gasped.

  ‘How in God’s name do you know that?’

  Daisy had been in a quandary before. It was ten times that now and required some very quick calculations. This was made harder by Dan pushing into a crowd outside the Three Compasses, urging them to action and he was not alone. Those already with him, and that excluded his own men, were doing their own encouraging. The crowd were fully up for pandemonium now. Spafford was visibly surprised to have Daisy grab his arm and haul him back with more strength than he was supposed to possess.