It was a much-cheered fellow who returned to the Three Kings, the immediate task to write to Betsey Langridge. The doubts he had harboured as to his reception, which had plagued him for some time, could be put to rest. From where he sat now, they looked to have been absurd, yet that had to be acknowledged as hindsight. The last time he had seen her had been thousands of miles away, which took no account of a twelve-month gap.
Added to that, their last parting had held no firm indication that any future suit would prosper. Folk in the old country might suspect the moral standards of the colonies to be lax, when the truth was the very opposite: in such small communities reputations could be shredded on the merest whiff of damning gossip, so care to avoid scandal was rigid.
On first meeting her, Betsey had been too recent a widow to show open interest in anyone. Aware of these restrictions and the number of prying eyes had tempered Brazier’s attentions; he had to keep the fact of his immediate attraction to her in check. Early conversations had naturally been hedged by a high degree of formality, so it had been impossible to be sure anything more pointed would be entirely welcome.
Time and repeated contact, in a constrained social milieu where the same people met all the time, had thawed that somewhat, but not enough for him to be sure if he could progress to a more familiar exchange. He had tested the limitations as far as was possible, finding a conversational companion who appeared to see humour in his sallies as well as one who had reacted cordially to his attentions.
These certainly, even in their early, guarded manifestation, had been much frowned upon by Aunt Sarah, sent to fetch Betsey home and to act as her chaperone in the process – and for sound reasons, Elisabeth Langridge having inherited her late husband’s lucrative sugar plantations. So Sarah Lovell had her work cut out, for not everyone of the resident colonial bachelors had been quite as guarded when it came to her niece’s reputation.
A few shameless opportunists made plain their intention to pursue her, only to be effectively rebuffed. The worst of the lot had been the hardest to deal with: none other than King George’s third son, Prince William. Not that it was her property that drew him to her, or the prospect of an advantageous marriage; he was attracted by her manifest beauty and, in terms of attention, she was not alone.
William, touring the Caribbean in command of the frigate HMS Pegasus, had gained a reputation as something of a satyr and Jamaica was not the only place where his gross attempts at seduction had caused a stir. He had outraged folk in Antigua and Bermuda and, from what had been gossiped about since, he had continued his habit of excessive drinking, coupled with overfamiliarity, in the Leeward Islands.
If the amount he drank was not unusual, the effect upon his behaviour was, pointing to an exceedingly light head. In his orbit, when so affected, no woman, married, single, young or mature, was safe from his risqué sallies and outrageous suggestions, not least that irregular intimacy with a royal prince was a gift to be prized.
Brazier had been forced to intervene to stop one of the local port officials from calling the prince out. A duel would have caused a scandal in any event; if he had been wounded or expired – not impossible since his challenger was a crack shot – the result did not bear thinking about. Then there was the dispute Prince William had with his premier, to which Brazier had become an unwilling party.
As captain of HMS Pegasus, William was a martinet and by no stretch could he be described as a fully competent seaman; he owed his rank and command to his bloodline. His first lieutenant and a highly competent officer, Mr Schomberg, who had been placed aboard to counter the prince’s inexperience, had occasion to intervene in the case of an approaching hurricane, questioning his superior’s orders in terms of precautions to both secure the ship and seek a safe harbour.
This had led to a public dressing-down from a choleric royal on the quarterdeck, witnessed by the whole crew, followed by an official complaint from the prince to the senior officer on the station. This meant it had landed on Edward Brazier’s desk, given the Jamaica Station was between commanding admirals, one having died suddenly and the man already designated as his replacement not yet arrived.
A dogged Isaac Schomberg demanded a court martial to clear his name. In examining the case and prior to the event, Brazier could plainly see from the logs of HMS Pegasus that Prince William was in the wrong and he gave an opinion under oath that said so. This did not go down well either with the miscreant or, he was subsequently to discover, at Windsor Castle; officers of his rank did not take the side of a mere lieutenant against a Prince of the Blood.
Brazier put aside these thoughts to concentrate on composing his note. He must eschew any hint of overfamiliarity, for her aunt would surely insist on seeing whatever he wrote. Her hackles were ever on show, as they had been earlier, and, given he was acting with a haste she would deplore, nothing must be provided as an excuse to fob him off. Finally satisfied, several scunched-up attempts at his feet, he gave a final critical perusal, sanded the letter, folded and sealed it, then went downstairs to arrange delivery. Garlick was stationed at the hatch just inside the entrance, obsequious as ever.
‘I require this to be delivered as soon as feasible. Charge any cost to my account and I must know it has arrived and has been accepted.’
‘Never fear, your honour, I’ll see to it.’
Garlick took the small square of folded paper to examine the destination. That he looked at it for some time and was still while doing so caused Brazier to wonder. ‘Is there something amiss, Mr Garlick?’
The reply was slow in coming and unconvincing when spoken; indeed, the man seemed to have acquired a frog in his throat, so hoarse was the word when he said there was nothing wrong. With no time to wonder, Brazier moved on to his next concern. He needed to hire a horse – it was too early to buy one – and it had to be an animal that reflected his standing.
‘I cannot turn up anywhere on any old cob, I need a pure-bred.’
He was about to add that it would need to be a passive beast as well, but that was something for a stable yard owner, not an innkeeper. He had not ridden a horse these six years past and knew from experience anything in the least bit sprightly would tax his rusty abilities to control it. It would not look good turning up at Cottington Court on a feisty mount he was struggling to keep in check.
‘If I can make so bold as to suggest the yard of Mr Flaherty for your needs.’
‘Irish, I would guess.’
‘He is that, sir, with the gift of his race when he speaks.’
‘Honest in his dealings?’
‘I would have a care to purchase from him, sir, yet that would be true of anyone dealing in horseflesh, for it is the occupation of scoundrels. But for a hire, he will see you have what you need and, if it is not in his own paddocks, he will know where to find it.’
‘Then all I require is directions.’
‘Best I send a lad to show you the way, your honour. Beyond habitation, one road and field round these parts looks much like another.’
‘Make it so, I will wait for him outside.’
‘There are seats in the parlour and you can partake of refreshment there.’
‘No, plain sea air for me.’
Having seen the parlour and the near-impenetrable fug of pipe smoke which emanated from the occupants, he had no desire to inhale it. If the Three Kings lacked folk to fill the rooms, it was obviously a venue for the more prosperous citizens of the town, to gossip, take a turn on the most recently delivered journals from London and perhaps to transact business.
That very thing was in the air at another location. The arrangements for the meeting between two very suspicious parties had taken near a month of talking to finalise and, even now, the lack of mutual trust was evident. Both the principals had arrived with armed escorts, while the agreed location had been set at the top of a hill dominated by a windmill.
This overlooked the fields that dropped away to the strand of buildings forming the southern end of Lower Deal, and height allowed for a complete view of the approaches; no one was taking a chance on being surprised, but it did fully expose the hilltop to any breeze going and there was a brisk easterly on this day.
A hired coach stood empty at the crown, with each party taking one side of the slope, in their centre the conveyances of the men who had come to talk, neither trusting the other to use their own. By the middle coach two men stood talking, though their conversation was not of long duration, merely a check that all the conditions had been met. That established, a waved arm was a signal to proceed.
The principals alighted and headed uphill, throwing wary glances all around to ensure their security, before entering the meeting coach through opposite doors. Very different in appearance, they eyed each other as two cats would do when defending a territory, to then rest on opposite padded seats without a word exchanged. Henry Tulkington, as ever with a handkerchief in his hand, held it to his mouth and coughed before speaking.
‘I do think, Spafford, since you pressed that we meet, it is up to you to commence proceedings.’
‘Proceedings you call it. Fancy term.’
The voice, unlike that of Tulkington, was heavily local and, if that contrasted, so did their appearance. The man speaking showed the rough skin and red face of a one-time sailor, as well as the physique of a bruiser: stocky with wide shoulders, rough hands added to the lumps and scars of a hard life and physical contests. The fellow he was addressing wore with ease the air of a gentleman; tall, slim of frame even in a thick coat and muffler, with an ascetic, pale face, hair hidden under his tricorne hat and a powdered wig.
‘To a purpose, I hope. It would not please me to be dragged out to face the elements for no reason.’ Tulkington coughed again, as if to underline the effect of the cool breeze on his chest. ‘I doubt you appreciate I am a far from well man, and having you in close proximity does nothing to aid my maladies.’
‘And what if it’s not just you that can lay claim to a malady?’
That took a moment to absorb. ‘You render me curious.’
‘The Grim Reaper might be standing by my shoulder, so close I can near feel him.’ Tulkington recoiled so his back was pressed hard against the body of the coach, while his face registered alarm. ‘You reckon yourself to be suffering from a whole raft of disorders, which many put down to imaginings. I know I am for certain, just as I know it could be a telling one that might see me gone within a twelvemonth.’
‘Is it an affliction to carry by proximity?’
‘Never worry, it will not afflict another. It’s well hidden too and able to be kept undisclosed as yet.’
‘So much so that I remark this. You look in rude health.’
‘Which will not last long, and that’s the cause that made me press for this.’
‘I hope you didn’t come expecting sympathy.’
‘I reckon you a vexation and one who has deprived me of a deal of money by your locally undercutting my prices.’
‘There you go bein’ high and mighty. You don’t own this coast, an’ your line never has.’ That brought forth a bout of coughing and employment of the handkerchief from the man so accused. ‘I want an assurance, Tulkington, that what I tell you in this here coach stays a’tween us. Not even your right hand is to know.’
‘A lot to ask, Spafford. What if it’s not to my advantage?’
‘It will be in time to come.’
‘Something you’ve failed to get around to mentioning. If what you say is true, I will not rejoice to see you go from this world – that would be un-Christian – but I would not have you hope me mourn.’ A fearful face followed and a hand covered and rubbed at his heart. ‘Besides, who knows, I may precede you.’
‘Not claiming to be a God-lover I could then celebrate, but you’se been dying since the day you was born and there was a time I fell for it. Now I don’t; I reckon you to see old bones, where I will not.’
The reply was delivered with rare passion: Henry Tulkington hated his lack of good health to be questioned. ‘Have you turned physician, man?’
‘Don’t need to, when I has eyes and hopes so many times dashed. But this ain’t gettin’ us to where we need to be.’
‘You need to be.’
‘Fair enough. If I peg it, it will be my lad Harry who will be in line to take my place.’ Tulkington tried not to smirk, but it was impossible; he knew Harry Spafford too well and so did his pa. ‘I don’t reckon him to last long afore one of my own topples him, which won’t be done gentle – can’t be.’
‘How charming,’ Tulkington opined, before chuckling, and then added, ‘You can share a plot, perhaps with his mother too, if he was ever to find out to where she fled to get away from you.’
‘It’s not a matter for jests.’
‘Get to what you want, Spafford.’
‘To die in peace, knowing my lad will not follow me to the grave.’
‘I can hardly prevent that.’
‘You can if I give all I have to you a’forehand.’ For the second time Tulkington was forced back against the body of the coach, though less violently on this occasion, it being brought on by astonishment, not fear of contagion. ‘If I know I’m goin’, I’ll cede my business to you and lead my lads into an alliance. Once I’ve perished, you’ll have this stretch of the coast to yourself.’
‘And Harry?’ A nod. ‘You reckon me to be gentle with him and fund his drinking?’
‘My offer is only good if I can get him out of harm’s way – an’ can I say now, as matters stand, I would reckon you to drop him overboard with roundshot in his breeches.’
‘So what you offer comes with a tariff.’
‘It does. What I will gift you is my share of the trade and with it the freedom to price goods as you choose. In return I need to see a way to fashion Harry’s future, out of your way and no trouble to anyone.’
‘I’m intrigued.’
‘What does that mean?’
Tulkington felt a surge of superiority then and could not hide a smirk. He was educated, Spafford was not and it was always a cause for pleasure to have such a fact confirmed. ‘You have pricked my interest.’
‘I need to be able to leave my Harry enough to get by on, and away from East Kent as well.’
‘Is there such a sum to be had? His consumption of drink is legendary, as are the debts he obliges you to pay.’
‘We both know business has been harder since the peace.’
‘For you, maybe.’
‘You might not be suffering as much, but suffer you do.’
‘I will allow you your assumptions, Spafford, and long may you hold to your delusions.’
‘Let me in on a part of yours, a few good cargoes, so I can make Harry a legacy which, over time, will return to you tenfold when I am set to expire.’
‘A notion that renders the word “delusion” insufficient. You should be grateful I don’t bury you early, which is well within my power to effect.’
‘Not without bloodshed and that would serve us both ill, as you know from past encounters in your father’s day.’ Tulkington fought to keep on his face a look of indifference, but Spafford was not fooled. ‘Folk who will turn a blind eye to cheating the Revenue will not do so if there are bodies to explain, will they? Your pa understood that and so do you.’
‘Get to the point.’
‘I need to ensure my lad is out of reach of those who would do for him and, try as I have, there’s no getting away from the fact that someone will. He’s not strong and is too tempted by the bottle.’
‘You forgot the trollops,’ Tulkington sneered. ‘I doubt there’s enough in coin to secure for Harry both his drinking as well as his whoring.’
‘Crow away, Tulkington, but think on it an’ you’ll come to see the sense, for whoever tops my Harry will not hesitate to seek to do like to you. They’ll have to, for that will be the promise they must make for support. You’ll have that war I spoke of on your hands, even if you don’t want it, and we both know what it will mean.’
‘One in which I’d expect to easily triumph.’
‘But at what price? Money well get even tighter and the Preventatives will be forced to pick up on it. They’ll see a purpose in getting off their bone-idle arses an’ happen, if it gets bloody enough, the army will be called in, as it was on the instructions of Billy Pitt. And where’s he half the time? Not in London, but sitting in Walmer Castle just waiting for an excuse to crack down hard and for good.’
‘I rate him of little account in my affairs.’
‘Now, maybe, but fighting don’t allow for that. Not even you can hide when you’re in a bloody struggle. Folk who are close-mouthed now will talk to save their own skin if they are at any risk of being seen as being accomplices to murder. Names will be given out, so I wouldn’t be surprised to see a whole host at Tyburn, queuing for their turn to dangle, with the only way out to put others up for the drop. What if you’re exposed for what you control, an’ happen be one of the party?’
‘I sense it would be a sight to cheer you.’
‘That I give you, the only pity is I will not be there to witness it.’
That occasioned a long pause; Tulkington knew what Spafford was thinking, for his aim was obvious. Did the sod know what he was reflecting on, that was more important? What he was being told required to be thought about, for the outcomes outlined were not utterly fanciful but, right now, it was necessary to be blunt and dismissive.
‘What a picture you paint, Spafford – and that’s what it is, nothing more than imaginings. The fate of Harry Spafford is no concern of mine and let the devil have him when his time comes. It will do hereabouts a favour, for he carries your blood and that is foul enough, without adding the afflictions he has picked up in his debaucheries.’
‘You don’t see what I propose as advantage to you in the long run?’
‘No.’
‘I ask you to put your mind to the matter, for I might not have long.’
That was received with a vehement shake of the head, which elicited from Spafford a bitter response.
‘I didn’t have you for a fool, Tulkington, but happen I was the one all along, seeing I pressed for this meet. If you won’t do what is goin’ to be to your gain, I ask only this. That what we have talked about you keep to yourself. I reckon to read your mind, but know this, I’ll start a war afore I go if you seek benefit from my ailment, an’ I’ll make sure it keeps goin’ when I’m in my six feet of earth, to be carried through till you’re taken down. So give me your word.’
It was a long time in coming, but come it did.
‘Then our business is done,’ Spafford said in a flat tone, head bowed and eyes down, which hinted at his disappointment. ‘Happen we will never clap eyes on each other again and it will end up in regret for my boy and you too. The last will be some recompense to me when I meet my maker, if I am so blessed.’
Tulkington opened the coach door, shivering at the blast of wind that swept in, stepping out to deliver his parting words. ‘Given you’re a product of pure devilment, I am sure you will meet your maker the second you expire. Satan will welcome you to the fires of hell with open arms.’
He turned away, pulling his coat and comforter tight around him as he strode back to his own coach and the safety of his men. John Hawker, the man who led them, looked at him quizzically only to get a shake of the head. It was not that Tulkington intended to keep his promise to Spafford, but it was not yet time to break it for a man who always kept his cards close to his chest.
‘Let us get out of here.’
His long-time adversary sat still in contemplation until the fellow he had set to arrange matters could hold his curiosity no longer. The Tulkington coach was heading away by that time, with the men he had brought as escorts following on foot.
‘Well,’ Daisy Trotter asked softly, a sleeve crossing his nose to remove a drop. ‘Did he fall for it?’
‘He says not, but from what I know of Tulkington, fast thinking is not his way. Happen, when he reasons on the matter it will be seen a notion to act on. Let it stew for a few days.’
‘It’s either that or we have to do for him, at whatever cost.’
Spafford looked at Jaleel Trotter, called Daisy, with his stringy build, wheezy breath, watery eyes and the near-permanent clear drip on the end of his nose. He appeared to be weak and, in truth, he was not sturdy. But he had a reputation as the master of the sly knife in the ribs, backbones for choice.
‘If it comes to that it has to be.’