A Lawless Place

by David Donachie

  ‘Not the type for me, Basil. Too hairy. Now I need someone to write a note for me.’

  Out at Worth, Dan Spafford might be planning a run, and short of coin it would have to involve some thieving, but he only had half his mind on it what with fretting about Harry. Was he at Cottington or not and, if yes, could he be got out without them having a repeat of what had gone before?

  Daisy, fed up with the same litany, had not just let Dan rant on. He said it to him plain that the boy was not worth a bit of his spit, which had seen Daisy taken by the throat and half-pushed up a wall, until he was struggling for breath. In all the years he and Dan had berthed together, there had never been a hand laid on him, and they’d had disputes, some shouted ones. But his lifetime shipmate could not take the criticism of Harry and now they didn’t talk at all. Daisy was lucky to get a glare.

  If Brazier wanted a meet, and it would have to be here, there might be something in it to make things good again, but he knew he would have to have a care. Any notion he might have known about what was coming to Quebec House, though he had never thought murder was part of it, would have to be avoided.

  Brazier was dining with the officers when the note was delivered, listening to a marine captain drone on about his proficiency with the violin, which made it a doubly good reason to make his excuses and leave. As was ever the case, as soon as he went through the door, he became the main subject of conversation, generally held to be an odd cove. And, of course, since he was absent, they could probe each other for any fresh gossip on the cloud he was rumoured to be under.

  ‘If the fellows he has with him are anything like a clue, he’s more than strange. The Lord only knows what they’re planning to do with a set of army muskets.’ A babble of queries meant that had to be explained; the master-at-arms had come across them cleaning their weapons, which left the speaker with a quandary. ‘Do you think I should tell Admiral Braddock?’

  ‘Best to cover your back, I say,’ opined the boring violinist.

  ‘There must be somewhere else we can talk, Trotter. This place feels as though the walls have ears.’

  ‘No need to be uncomfortable, Capt’n,’ came with a knowing smile. ‘You’re safe here.’

  What Basil called his ‘palace of delight’ was far from full, yet felt cramped. This was just as well: crowded, the brick walls ran with human perspiration. Daisy was not to be moved: he felt safe here, but he did ask Basil if he could use his upstairs bedroom, a place so garishly decorated it looked like a seraglio.

  That was just as much a curiosity as down below, with so many people being obvious about what was usually hidden. It wasn’t that Brazier had never encountered such a thing before. It existed in a small way in the service and not always just on the lower deck. But the imperative for officers was to turn a blind eye, as long as it was not thrown in their face. The efficient working of the ship was paramount.

  ‘Is young Spafford at Cottington?’ Brazier asked.

  ‘Don’t know, and it’s driving my Dan to a frazzle wondering.’

  ‘What would your Dan say, assuming he is there, if I offered to get him free?’

  ‘He’d bite your hand off. But why would you?’

  ‘He has something I want.’ That really pricked his interest. ‘I’m going to tell you a tale you’ll scarce believe, and I want you to know it’s one I want kept discreet. Tell no one you don’t have to, on pain of meeting my sword.’

  The knife was out in a flash, a long thin silver blade, which had Brazier move back in haste. ‘Don’t reckon me easy quarry. Yours wouldn’t be the first gut I’ve filleted. Now tell me your tale, an’ I’ll decide if it goes any further.’

  This Trotter was very different from the one he had met previously, but that did not alter the fact of what he wanted done. So he told him of what he’d missed that night he’d lain doggo in the grass, which was a way of also telling him why Brazier had been there. The shock was total.

  ‘Harry, wed to a Tulkington?’

  ‘To spite me, yes. But it was forced upon her and needs to be annulled. I will undertake to get Harry free from Cottington. In turn he will swear, on oath, that the woman to whom he was wed was coerced and probably drugged. He will swear this was done at the behest of her brother and that the ceremony was a farce carried out by an ill-named reverend called Moyle.’

  ‘So you can wed her yourself?’ A nod. ‘You’ll be goin’ there to snatch her away, then?’

  ‘I will, and as soon as I have the right kind of moon. So there’s no time for any to and fro. Put it to Spafford and get me his promise that I will get what I want. Then he can have what he wants.’

  Daisy dropped his head so as not to meet Brazier’s eye. He was thinking, and the blessing was that the man with him reckoned him to be doing just that. But the purpose was different. Harry would never pass up being married to a rich beauty, no matter what his pa tried to get him to do. But if he could take to Dan the news of what was being offered, happen they could get back on good terms.

  ‘I need to know how you’re going to do what you say.’

  ‘I take it my word will not suffice?’

  ‘T’other way round, would it then?’

  So that had to be imparted, for Daisy had the right of it. He told him of how they had got the key and what had happened to the bearer, at which point Daisy had to again drop his head. Brazier explained he would once more put a pistol to Tulkington until Betsey was brought out. If Harry Spafford was there, he would be brought out as well, willing or not.

  ‘I am taking my men in, armed with enough threat to subdue. No one is going to get hurt …’

  ‘Not even Tulkington?’

  Brazier shook his head. ‘Tempted as I am. But I need an answer and quick.’

  That took some thought. ‘I’ll try to come back here tomorrow evening, if not the night after.’

  ‘Fine. I will have someone keep watch for you.’

  ‘One thing?’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘You don’t seem to care much about what Tulkington does for his wealth?’

  ‘It’s none of my business, so if you’re one of those people who thinks I’m in league with William Pitt, you’re mistaken. I have only one interest where he is concerned and that is to take his sister away from him.’

  ‘Won’t have it, Captain Brazier. If anyone’s goin’ to get Harry free, it has to be Dan hisself. What he’s sayin’ is he will come along …’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Never in life. It will be all.’

  ‘It’s not needed. All we’re going to face is Tulkington and his servants, and they’re not fighters, barring a couple of coachmen, perhaps. We’ll be in and out in a blink.’

  ‘An’ what if he don’t just want Harry? The way Tulkington treated him needs paying back.’

  ‘He’s said that?’

  When Daisy nodded, Brazier was forced to think. Did it really make that much difference? If Dan Spafford wanted to revenge himself on Henry Tulkington, what was it to him, as long as he got what he needed from his son?’

  ‘Will I get Harry’s sworn testimony?’

  ‘Dan will lock him up ’til he agrees. Harry, with no drink for a week, would sign away the Crown Jewels.’

  ‘Very well. Tell me how to get to where you reside and I will tell you what time we will come.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The first night Harry Spafford was back in Cottington Court was the time at which Betsey determined to arm herself. There were guns in the house, left over from her father’s time, he, unlike Henry, being a keen hunter of woodcock and pheasants. She had no idea where they were stored and, even more tellingly, no notion of how to load them, always assuming she could also find the shot.

  During the day she was careful to avoid any meeting with him, in this aided by her aunt. He was not one to rise early, indeed the morning seemed alien to his nature, so she could undertake her walks and be back and out of sight before he called for sustenance. All her meals she took
in her room and, like her food, the means to carry out a daily toilette came from the servants fetching hot water. Refuge was found in reading, Sarah Lovell fetching the means to do so from the library.

  The mood swings of this purveyor were a mystery and would remain so, given enquiry was clearly not welcome. So ebullient and confident for a few days, her aunt seemed to have shrunk back into submissiveness with the arrival of Spafford. She had, though, managed to convey, albeit elliptically, that he was present as a threat to ensure her compliance with her brother’s wishes, one that had no need to be elaborated upon.

  A knife was the only viable option and it was necessary to wait until the entire house was asleep before attempting to secure one. On a cloudy night the house was in near-Stygian darkness, so only long familiarity with both the layout and the furnishings allowed her to make her way down the stairs and through to the kitchen. Even there, it was only memory from long ago that served her needs.

  As a child she had often come here for food and milk, but not as an adult. So it took, through touch alone, a long time to find the wooden block in which the sharpest utensils were stored, and that could not be achieved without some noise. Every incident of bumping into or knocking something had her freeze, heart thumping, listening for a reaction. Even when she found the block, it was a case of feeling for the kind of pointed implement that would serve to stab.

  One located − and it came close, when she felt it, to cutting her own flesh − it was just as difficult to leave as it had been to come. She was feeling her way along the large table on which food was prepared and at which the staff ate, when the door to Grady’s pantry opened. The lantern he was holding illuminated the room, leaving her standing stock-still, knife in hand and, Betsey was sure, easily visible.

  Nothing was said, they merely looked at each other, until Grady’s eyes dropped a fraction, obviously to what was in her hand, which, on its blade, was reflecting the light. About to speak, Betsey could not find the words she wanted to say. How could she explain to him the purpose of such a weapon? It turned out to be unnecessary. Silently, Grady nodded and shut his door, which told her he understood and probably approved.

  Back in her room, and that took just as long to get to as it had going to the kitchen, Betsey sat on her bed by dim candlelight. She began trembling, in sharp contrast to the steadiness she had shown when setting out. Finally, that subsided enough for her to undertake the next step, which was to hide it where none of the servants who cleaned the room could find it.

  She was not to know that, come morning, when the cook noticed one of her knives was missing, Grady told her she was not to mention it to anyone and especially not to the master. Thus the house went through its own daily rhythms without disturbance, Betsey with her toilette, her tray of food and her walk, knowing she was being trailed.

  Henry had his usual shave from Grady, followed by breakfast in the company of his aunt, she no longer as talkative and certainly not as assertive as of late. After some time in his study, he went off in the coach to whatever business he was dealing with that day, so it would have been hard for anyone to know there was any difference to any other.

  And then Harry Spafford woke from his slumbers and began to demand the kind of endless attention that set everyone’s nerves on edge. On hearing his shouts through her locked door − he was not content to summon with a bell − Betsey found it hard to concentrate on the book she was reading and had to constantly feel for the knife, which would spend its nights under her pillow and its days close to her hand.

  Henry came away from his meeting with John Hawker sure he had got the point across, without causing too much damage to the man’s self-esteem. He could not help but silently reprise the words he had used to examine them for any possible hurt, and was satisfied there could be none. For once, there was no turned back and hand warming at the stove; it was direct contact, eye to eye, as much for Hawker’s sake as to gauge his reactions.

  ‘If there are things I don’t tell you, John, it is because you do not need to know. It is not that I don’t trust you, it is that I have no need to explain. If I did not tell you what transpired from my first meeting with Spafford, it was because I was unsure of how matters would play out.’

  An expressionless face could be taken in various ways and Hawker wore one. Was it stony anger or cold calculation, listening and assessing? Only one conclusion was possible: he was not going to give anything away and that was not something to be concerned about.

  ‘You disagreed with me about how to deal with Spafford and that I cannot have. It is not a lack of respect for you, but the need for there to be one controlling head running things. It cannot be done by debate, as I’m sure you understand.’ That got a jerk of the head, more than a nod. ‘Good. Now let us carry on as we should to mutual profit.’

  Henry had sent his carriage ahead to wait at the Lodge and, unusually for him, he was to be seen walking through the town, where he acknowledged the nods of acquaintances and studiously ignored those from folk barely known to him who would, if he engaged with them, be either pleading for something or merely grovellingly obsequious. There were many too cautious to even make eye contact and that was pleasant to a man who cared as much to be feared as respected.

  ‘Mr Cremins, I find you well?’

  A carter in a small way, indeed a small man with cropped hair and worn features, Cremins was surprised to see in his yard a man like Tulkington. He was of the kind who barely stooped to even nod from within his coach. That induced a sort of half-bow, half-crouch as he sought to demonstrate his deference.

  ‘Is trade good?’ Henry continued.

  ‘Passable, your honour, no more. If I may make so bold, some folk are hard to match in prices charged for carting.’

  ‘Quite. Would it be of interest to you if I was to put a bit of trade your way, shifting my farming produce, perhaps?’

  ‘Why, sir, I’d be more than grateful.’

  ‘I trust the price would be competitive?’ Cremins knew Sowerby transported the Tulkington goods and, Henry thought, also knew what they consisted of, though he would never let on. ‘If that was so, it might lead to more business.’

  ‘If I was to match your present tariff, Mr Tulkington, would that serve?’

  ‘Mr Cremins, how could it not be? I will be in touch when we are ready to shift crops, you have my word on it.’

  As he left he made a mental note to tell John Hawker that Cremins was to be left alone from now on. He would no longer be required to pay so that his business ran smoothly and free from trouble. Sowerby would soon hear of what was coming and it would be of interest to see how he reacted. Whatever, it would send the required message: the family that raised you to prosperity can just as easily bring you down.

  Two days of cloudy weather, the result of a brisk westerly wind, occasioned deep frustration for Edward Brazier. With communication thought to be unwise, it could only be hoped what had been arranged with Trotter would hold. The others, more stoical, seemed to be less troubled, which he put down to their being the kind of seamen for whom decisions, outside their daily tasks, were made for them. Inactivity, which made him nearly physically itch, was taken as normal.

  He had another dinner with Braddock, though it was relieved by the presence of others, one of the main topics of conversation the news from France of the travails of King Louis, as he tried to deal with the bankruptcy of the country. While all welcomed the French having troubles, there was yet a lingering professional disquiet. It was a country that could scarce go to war in its present state, which meant a lack of opportunity for those eating at Braddock’s board.

  Another cloudy night was spent at the Old Playhouse drinking with Flaherty, though in a more abstemious fashion than previously, occasionally joined by Saoirse, with Brazier watching the pair carefully to see if they were harbouring information he did not wish them to share. It was on his way back to the Navy Yard that he felt the change in the wind, the westerly swinging round to, he hoped, the north-east, wh
ich would bring clear skies and with it a half-moon.

  Having gone to bed hopeful, he awoke to a sunny morning and the sure knowledge that if it held, he would be going to rescue Betsey tonight.

  Total avoidance proved impossible and, unusually, Spafford had risen early enough to catch Betsey on the stairs as she came back from her walk. Unknown to her his consumption of drink had been severely curtailed by her brother, which rendered his morning head much clearer.

  He was standing on the landing, an infuriatingly superior smile on his face, while he looked like he was not going to budge to let her pass. The knife, which went where she went, was wrapped in a muffler she had declined, over the last couple of days, to let Grady take with her cloak. Sarah Lovell, having seen to her return, was still in the hallway when the first words were exchanged and, on hearing them, she hurried to fetch her nephew.

  ‘Get out of my way.’

  ‘Is that the right manner in which to address your husband?’

  ‘You are no more my husband than that newel post by which you’re standing.’

  ‘Do you not miss what you had with your Stephen?’ When she looked angry, he added, still smiling, ‘Henry told me all about him. Sounds rather pathetic to me, so happen I could bring to you that which he would have struggled to provide. In my company your screams would wake the house.’

  The knife came out to be pointed at him. ‘It will be your screams, Spafford, for your spilt guts, if you come anywhere near me. Now let me pass, so I can go to my room, unless that is what you wish for now.’

  ‘Elisabeth.’

  Henry’s voice did not cause her to turn round. Her more pressing enemy was still before her and it was he who spoke, his tone jocular. ‘She’s threatening to stab me, Henry. I must say you have found me the most spirited wife. Bending her to my will should be a pleasure, my body even more so.’