Not expecting an immediate reply from Cottington Court, Brazier had time to reacquaint himself with riding a horse, not that the basics were a mystery. You do not forget how to hold the reins, or the need to use thighs and heels, backed up by the voice, to get the mount to obey a command. But he was conscious that after such a long absence, the muscles employed would ache after too long in the saddle, that part of his anatomy in contact with leather the same.
The Irishman, Flaherty, had put forward to him a near-perfect mount called Bonnie, a bay mare of some eighteen hands and one that showed no inclination to tug at the bridle, so the trot around the paddock promised to be pleasant. This proved to be the case, the owner – an inquisitive soul who had already asked several questions – standing in the middle with a keen eye and the odd suggestion.
‘So what would be bringing a Jack tar to this neck of the woods, with him not having a ship in the Downs?’
‘You discount mere curiosity, sir,’ Brazier replied, as he nudged the animal into a trot. ‘A desire just to see the sights.’
That got a smile. ‘How could I, when it’s me posing the enquiry?’
Flaherty had a hair colour to match the mount, though unlike the smooth coat, his wild ginger mop looked to be untameable. With that went pale, freckled skin and bright-green eyes, alongside an easy manner. Brazier had to remind himself it was one which could be used to deceive as well as charm. Garlick was right: horse dealers were a highly suspect lot.
‘You sit reasonably well, I will say that, but I would suggest a straighter back.’
Brazier pulled himself upright and was pleased to notice the effect as it increased pressure on the stirrups; he seemed more connected to the horse as he urged it into a canter, taking her over some poles lying on the sand, something he did a dozen times, while declining the Irishman’s suggestion that they be raised a few feet. When he finally dismounted, the session – conversation included – had lasted, to his surprise and by his watch, for near a full hour.
As he held the timepiece in his hand he saw Flaherty looking at it keenly, which made him realise he had been unwise, it being a new and expensive gold-plated Hunter bought on the way through London. A man who traded in horseflesh was well versed in picking up the signs of a customer’s means by his possessions. Quickly he snapped it shut and put it back in his waistcoat.
Bonnie was put to a hay net, Flaherty leading him into the empty stall he used as an office. ‘How long will you be wanting the beast?’
The possibility of being rebuffed existed, as did the reverse. It would be unwise to show confidence on a mere smile. ‘That is uncertain; I could not even say it would go to a week. I would therefore posit that a daily rate would serve.’
‘Fair enough.’ The green eyes narrowed then and the lips thinned. ‘With, of course, a sum in indemnity, for the tack and lest the horse suffer in any way. Strong they might appear, but they are frail creatures and much given to ailments. This here Bonnie is of value to me – a favourite, you might say.’
Brazier wanted to say pigs might fly as the two men locked eyes, not in any rancorous way, but in that fashion folk do when they are seeking to discern the limits of what one can charge and the other can contest. If the Irishman was good at it, so was Brazier; a man could not rise to be a captain of a fighting ship, dealing with admirals, a crew of three-hundred-plus men added to a dozen officers, every one ambitious, and not be well versed in the rules of the mute encounter.
Edward Brazier had learnt long ago that his best weapon was silence; the first to speak was usually the first to give ground. It was plain that Flaherty had studied at the same academy, for he said nothing, the only indication of his knowledge of the game a slow spreading smile until finally he realised he could not win.
‘I sense I am dealing with a fellow who is not of the swaying kind.’
Brazier grinned. ‘While I sense a worthy adversary, Mr Flaherty.’
A hand came out. ‘Vincent in the name.’
‘And a commendable one for your race,’ was the reply as it was grasped. ‘A fair price I will pay, but—’
‘Such a price will be provided. I suggest three shillings a day for both mount and tack, with an indemnity for me to hold of five guineas, plus the cost of stabling.’
‘Done. But I will be stabling at the Naval Yard, where your favourite will be well cared for in the article of feed and grooming and at a cost not inflated by avarice.’
Flaherty threw back his head and laughed as Brazier reached into his coat for his purse, an act which caused the Irishman to cap his humour. Looking stern, he raised ginger eyebrows.
‘You carry such sums on your person, sir?’ The look Flaherty got implied the obvious, given his customer was quickly counting out the guineas. ‘If I could be so bold to advise you, I would not maintain it as a habit in a place like Deal. They teach filching in the cradle hereabouts.’
‘As they do in every port I’ve ever set foot in, Mr Flaherty.’ Brazier nodded to his weapon, lying on the man’s trestle desk. ‘But as you see, I rarely go abroad without my sword and we sailors are not known to be gentle with our knuckles, regardless of rank.’
‘I would still advise double purses, one for small coin and another for gold.’ Flaherty began to smile again as he looked at Brazier’s breeches. ‘The one you’ll have to resort to in order to get yourself some boots.’
Brazier had not thought on it beforehand, and so had arrived at the paddock in his uniform breeches and white stockings – adequate for the roads hereabouts, dry paths and the deck of a ship, but no good for a horse. The inner part of both calves, which had not been protected by the saddlecloth, were now streaked with dirt, he having ridden Bonnie when she had been fetched in from grazing, without her being groomed first.
‘There’s a cobbler opposite St George’s Church who has pairs for loan. It’s quite common for men of the sea not to have any with them, often their bein’ stuck here for a month or more.’
The still-saddled mount was led to the gate where sat the lad who had guided him to Flaherty’s paddock, now waiting to show him the way back. Brazier saw the light of wonder in the youngster’s eyes, for the animal was handsome, which caused him to pose the question.
‘Your name, boy?’
‘Ben to all.’
‘Well, Ben, would you care to sit atop her?’
‘Why that would be sure fine, your honour. Ain’t never got up on anything but a donkey.’
‘Then let me hoist you aboard.’
Which he duly did, settling him on the saddle and taking the reins to lead Bonnie down the lane. If the boy was delighted and excited, Brazier forbore to tell him that it was he who was doing the favour, this for a man whose lower limbs were aching.
The note he had written was being waved with some irritation. ‘I feel I must forbid you to respond, Elisabeth.’
Betsey Langridge put much effort into keeping calm, which was far from easy. ‘I think, Aunt Sarah, you exceed your responsibilities.’
‘I do not. It is my task, given to me by my dear nephew, to see your reputation is not sullied.’ A loud sniff saw her fingers entwined at her waist. ‘I daresay it is easier here at home than it was in that heat-blasted island on which you lived, but the limits of proper behaviour do not alter.’
‘A gentleman of some standing, a highly respected naval officer, asks merely to call and renew an acquaintance. What harm can there be in that?’
Her much older relative did not have to work hard to display displeasure; the cast of her features – pinched pale lips with the creases of her years, hollow cheeks and catlike eyes – naturally leant towards it. The assemblage was fully deployed now for she could see harm as plain as day.
‘If Henry were here he would back me up.’
The tone hardened; Betsey was heartily sick of not being able to go anywhere without her aunt in tow. Likewise she hovered on the perimeter of any conversation, even with a woman, never mind a man. Betsey reckoned she had no role in life other than satisfying her brother, so was taking comfort from the one with which she had been tasked.
‘He has no more right to rule my behaviour than do you. Is it necessary to remind you that I am no longer some inexperienced maiden, but a woman who has been wedded and also mistress of her own household?’
‘You are a widow.’
‘Something of which I hardly require to be reminded.’
Sarah Lovell changed tack, her tone less entreating. ‘What do you think this Captain Brazier thought of your behaviour outside the graveyard?’
That touch of rouge on the cheeks appeared again, which had Betsey turn to face the mullioned window to hide it. ‘I cannot fathom what you mean.’
‘Fiddlesticks. You know precisely what I mean. I would not say you actually simpered on seeing him, but it was not far from that. And what is the fellow doing here, anyway? I do not recall him saying he was in a ship.’
‘I have no idea and neither do you.’
‘You do not see yourself as the reason?’
Betsey spun round again, making no effort to hide her resentment. ‘Now it is my turn to say fiddlesticks to you. I recall, as I am sure do you, that Captain Brazier was punctilious in his manner from the very first time we met in Jamaica.’
‘On that occasion he was in the Governor’s House and on his best behaviour, as he needed to be. I would not say that he held to that standard every time you met subsequently. In fact, he became increasingly forward.’
Seeking distraction, Betsey mentioned another pursuer. ‘You mean like Prince William!’
Aunt Sarah fell for it, saying with some vehemence, and throwing her eyes to the ceiling, ‘May the Good Lord forgive me for lese-majesty, for that’s a fellow who needs to meet the birch rod he was spared as a child.’
Betsey could not say, dare not admit, she had taken a liking to Edward Brazier on that first occasion and it was one that had grown with further acquaintance. On the island it was impossible not to meet at every event when his ship was in harbour; horse races and regattas, the balls that followed, and celebrations such as the Governor’s or the King’s birthday.
Within the bounds of good manners, he had shown himself to have a telling wit, which never strayed into the vulgar. There was, too, an attraction to him beyond that, a certain presence that went with his rank and responsibilities, fortified by a modest self-confidence. Betsey had observed he was respected by both his inferior officers and fellow captains, an attitude that extended to the Governor of Jamaica himself.
What she hid, even from herself, was the fact of a physical attraction, for he had a figure good to look upon. When she had searched for a word to describe him to herself, it settled on saturnine. He had regular features on a dark skin made more so by the Caribbean sun, under straight black hair tied at the rear by a silk ribbon, for he eschewed a wig. Even his height, a bit over six feet compared to her own five foot and a half, seemed to feel right. He also had a penetrating and steady way of looking at her and spoke with a deep and attractive voice; it was that which she recalled above all.
‘I will reply, inviting him to call; to do otherwise would be a want of the good manners you so prize. Added to which, you will be present, so nothing that might offend the sensibilities can occur.’
As Betsey swept out to go to the library and pen her note, she was thinking not only would Sarah Lovell never leave them alone, but her mere presence would drain out of the meeting any possible pleasure.
Sitting at the desk, quill in hand, it was some time before it was dipped in the inkwell. Betsey looked around the book-lined walls and reflected how much she had loved being in here as a growing girl. It was in this very room that her governess had taught her embroidery. The Reverend Moyle was held to be incapable of much in the education line – indeed he often demonstrated staggering ignorance.
So the nearby Vicar of St Leonard’s in Upper Deal had been engaged to impart Latin, Greek and mathematics. It was rudiments, naturally, and not to a standard of a fully educated cleric, but good enough to allow her to engage in conversation with people of some erudition without sounding foolish.
It was impossible, too, not to recall her life with Stephen Langridge, a much-loved only child whom she had known from infancy, his family being nearly as prominent locally as her own. Deal and its surroundings were not overgifted with folk of quality, so they formed a somewhat incestuous circle that had met often, in the same manner as people in Jamaica. The two had grown up together and had meandered, on reaching maturity, into a mutual attraction without really noticing.
This had not met with brotherly approval, he acting as though the man asking to marry her could be some kind of threat, which was absurd. Henry did like to command those around him, but how could he see gentle Stephen in that light? He was handsome and graceful of manner, qualities that her brother had always lacked, so she rated him jealous.
Betsey could see and hear Stephen too, in her mind’s eye, right now: a flop of fair hair dropping over his brow, a hand uselessly and continuously employed to sweep it back into place, his voice light and kindly. There were the soft eyes and the lazy smile, at its best when she caught him gazing at her unawares and, if the place had been discreet, with no servants to observe, they would fall into each other’s arms to allow spontaneous mutual pleasure to follow.
That aspect of their life together, of which she had been warned in the most alarming terms by Aunt Sarah, amongst others, had turned out to be the very opposite of the tales of painful and unpleasant duty. Stephen had been a gentle but eager lover and had found in his wife someone who returned his desire in full and enthusiastic measure. How she missed that.
He had been mounted the last time she saw him in full health: astride his stallion, wearing his broad-brimmed straw hat and blowing her a kiss as he set off to tour the plantations, a journey that would take a week. It was impossible to not contrast that with the speed of his decline, for within the month he was a near skeleton, whose hair had gone, the lazy smile more of a rictus.
She felt tears pricking her eyes and a thought came to her that she could never quite suppress. When Stephen passed away, the same when he was committed to the ground, Betsey could not be sure for whom she felt more remorseful: him, or herself for being left in limbo. It was hard to push the shame of that out of her mind, but with effort she did so, beginning to write.
He having returned, Sarah Lovell went straight to see her nephew to appraise him of what had happened outside the graveyard and, what’s more, his sister’s response in writing to invite this fellow to visit at his own convenience, which to her was on the very edge of respectable acceptability. She found him occupied with a visitor: a local mill owner, she was informed, who had already been kept waiting to see him, obliging her to go away and return, so she heard very little of what was a heated exchange.
Sarah Lovell was absolutely certain Henry would share her view once the fellow had departed and she was admitted to tell her tale. Yet the attitude he adopted, as he went to stand before the fire to couch his first question, did not much indicate any firm opinion.
‘A navy man, you say?’
He listened without much reaction until he posed the next question, which was an obvious one. What did his aunt know of the man? Sarah Lovell was obliged to say that when she arrived in Jamaica Brazier had been the naval officer in command at Kingston, his admiral having died in horrible circumstances. If he was popular with the governor and his inferior officers, he was not much loved by the colonials, plantation owners and traders.
‘And why would that be?’
‘Due to his diligence in enforcing the Navigation Acts, Henry, which had those same islanders paying higher prices for that which they wished and, very often, needed to purchase. The talk was of combining to sue him for their losses’
Further than that she could not go, but his interest in Elisabeth, if not singular in a society she saw as lax, had been manifest.
‘How my sister reacted has more bearing,’ was the considered response; that not leading to a rebuttal told him all he needed to know. ‘I sent you to Jamaica to protect her from this, did I not?’
‘You did, nephew, and I did what was necessary to discourage not only Captain Brazier, but all those who sought to show untoward attention to Elisabeth – a task not easy, but one in which I was sure I had succeeded.’
‘Evidently not.’
Sarah Lovell was stung and desired to tell Henry that with a headstrong sister he would have done no better. Yet she was in no position to challenge him, even if she thought him mistaken. It would do no good, and she was given no chance, to tell him of her successes: of the others she had seen off, the ones with the gleam of golden guineas in their eyes. She was required to further dwell on this proposed visitor in regard to that very subject.
‘I doubt he has need of Elisabeth’s plantations. It was the talk of the island when I arrived. Brazier had taken a Spanish ship from some French pirates, one they had previously captured. In its holds was a cargo of silver and, given the gap between its capture and rescue, this was accounted as prize goods. Brazier got his eighth share of the value as per custom, which was, as you can guess, substantial.’
‘And now he has turned up in Deal?’
‘Had there been correspondence, I would have seen this coming, Henry. But those who wrote to Elisabeth from the West Indies were very obvious in their intentions and aspirations, so as to be a subject of much amusement between us. They were clearly just in pursuit of her money.’
‘Where is Elisabeth now?’
‘Perhaps in the library. She went there to pen the invitation to Brazier.’
‘Ask her to come and see me. It would be best that it is not sent.’
Sarah Lovell found Elisabeth was not where she thought and was not even within the house. On enquiries being made, it was established she had gone for a walk in the woods, the dogs being missing too, a common enough occurrence and one quite regular. Sarah also found out the lad who helped in the stables had been sent off on a pony, his instructions being to carry a letter to the Three Kings.
Walking did little to ease the ache in his thighs, which led Brazier to wonder if his hostelry had a bathing machine, for he had often found a dip in the sea to be efficacious in the article of tired hams. Not that it would be as pleasant or as warm as the waters of the Caribbean, into which he had often plunged, with a lookout aloft and a pair of men with muskets to guard against sharks.
Idly he wondered if Betsey was of the type to swim, for if it was uncommon in men, anathema to most sailors, it had become a popular pastime with the fairer sex, who saw benefits to their health. He imagined she would, and that they might take to it together. Being unable to control the thought, he soon had them both naked and delighting in the experience, these becoming imaginings it was hard to control.
He sought to turn his mind to other, less lubricious thoughts. Was it worth composing another round of letters to those who might exert interest on his behalf? The question would be the same: could they see their way to writing to the Admiralty and recommending him for a ship, the fact that such pleas were necessary being deeply annoying.
He had a good record of both service and action under a number of still-living commanding officers, be they captains, commodores or the admirals. They would never have sent in a report containing anything other than praise for his application to his duties. Old Pollock he naturally included, for the misdemeanours of a midshipman were long in the past.
In action under Commodore Johnstone he had distinguished himself on more than one occasion, the first time at Porto Praya in taking back the ship Admiral Braddock had referred to, which had been captured by the French. At the Cape of Good Hope he had led one of the parties that boarded and destroyed a group of eight valuable Dutch merchantmen, there being no way to take them as prizes. Added to that he had been the subject of a Gazette for Trincomalee.
‘Best jump down, Ben,’ he said, putting aside these recollections as they came in sight of the Three Kings, ‘I doubt Mr Garlick will take to me walking and you riding.’ Raising his hands he lifted the boy off. ‘Nip in and tell him you’re back, while I lead her to the Yard stables.’
‘Happy to oblige you in that, sir,’ the youngster squeaked.
‘What, enter a naval yard?’ Brazier jested. ‘Might be a press gang in there, evil coves just waiting for the likes of you with a cudgel or a shilling, a prime hand in the making.’
‘Won’t need no press for me, your honour. Come a war, an’ I’ll put myself forward right off.’
‘You’d like to go to sea?’
‘Not half.’
It was hard not to say, ‘So would I.’
‘Perhaps another time. I need to speak with those that will care for her.’
Bonnie was soon stabled and in the hands of those men who would brush her coat, pick her hooves and carry out the dozens of procedures needed to keep a horse healthy. Brazier made his way back to the Three Kings and, on entering, got a look from Garlick that implied he had something of interest to impart, which brought him close.
‘We has Mr Pitt with us, your honour.’
‘The William Pitt?’
‘None other. He often comes here for his midday victuals if he’s down from London and has no one of family to care for his needs. Happen it would serve to acquaint yourself.’
‘Which would require an introduction, Mr Garlick, given I am not one to press myself on anyone, high or low, without one.’
‘I did tell him you was recently arrived and I reckon he knew your name.’
‘I cannot fathom why he would.’
‘With a bit of promptin’, I will admit. If I was to say you had returned, happen he’d want to exchange a word.’
Edward Brazier felt a deep reluctance to oblige Garlick, who was, no doubt, seeking to engineer a meeting for his own purposes, not that he could be blamed. It was in the nature of the inn-keeping beast to take advantage wherever it could be sniffed. Introducing men of standing to each other could result in them dining in company and spending money.
Brazier’s mind then went back to the suspicions of Admiral Braddock and his reasons for being in Deal. Much as he disliked the prospect of that which Garlick was proposing, smacking as it did of opportunist grovelling, William Pitt was a powerful man, second only to the sovereign in his authority. None but a fool would pass up such a chance.
‘Lead the way.’