It was a contemplative Henry Tulkington who sat by the fire in his study, staring at the flickering flames and seeking an answer to a set of worrying conundrums, one of which was how to deal with his being robbed, while still lacking any solid information. If it was Spafford, that had to be put to one side, for the most pressing problem centred on Elisabeth and her infatuation with Brazier. It was obvious he would struggle to control her, but could he contemplate within the family a serving naval officer, especially one who was known to be upright in pursuit of his duties? If he had interdicted smuggling from the newly formed United States, he would scarce accept it here in England.
Had he been an impecunious naval officer, it might have been less of a worry; his putative brother-in-law had the means to ease his purse, while any man who took such gifts and became accustomed to them would scarce wish to see them curtailed. Yet not only was Brazier well heeled it seemed, but in marriage he would gain control of Elisabeth’s property. Thus the means to suborn any principles he might possess was severely restricted.
It was too risky to just let matters take their own course, but barring Elisabeth from leaving Cottington could only be a temporary measure; if they were not an overly social family, him especially, there were still attendances that could not be avoided, Sunday worship being just one at which the whole family was expected to show − and if the Reverend Moyle had no control of his consumption of alcohol, he could hardly fail to remark on the lack of a showing by his sister.
His mind turned, as hers had done, towards the prospect of declaring her mentally unfit enough to justify confinement, given he was sure he could find a medical man amongst his Freemason fraternity who would do his bidding. But such a declaration would be too easy to challenge and the same fellow who presented the problem would be sure to do so, no doubt, in a very public and noisy manner.
Henry Tulkington had business interests outside the running of contraband and he was determined that they should not be exposed to public gaze, especially the activities of John Hawker. When his factotum collected monies due to the government on taxable goods, every legitimate penny raised was paid over to the Exchequer by Tulkington, though he took a percentage as profit. But a proportion of what was sold in the various outlets was smuggled goods, so the man collecting their taxes was the same fellow who said what was available in revenue-free contraband.
Those who declined what Hawker could provide were well aware he could call on a strong band of hard bargains to do his bidding – it was no secret in the Lower Town. His pitch was simple. If you decline to sell run goods, pay a regular fee to ensure your business prospers and no harm can be done to you, for I will ensure that is so. Refuse, and you are at the mercy of every villain in town.
Few had the ability to stand up to him and it was not just the implied threat of property or trade ruined. There were the rumours of other things Hawker had done to those who crossed him, which were enough to include terror in some and compliance in many. By such means Henry Tulkington kept a grip on the trade of Lower Town, his name never openly mentioned, but his influence acknowledged, even if only in whispers.
Hawker and the others who worked for him were rewarded from the extracted income, without the need to touch other sources. Much of these, because of their illegal provenance, needed to be discreetly hidden away and quietly invested, bar a certain amount disbursed to buy the goods he required from his suppliers in France.
That exchange was not done in carried guineas, as Spafford in his luggers was obliged to carry, with all the attendant risks of being apprehended in possession of money that could only be for one purpose. It was and had been, since Tulkington Senior’s time, facilitated by seemingly normal transfers through Jewish banking intermediaries, via a reputable enterprise based in the City of London run by his father’s illegitimate half-brother.
Frustration at the lack of a firm conclusion to the problem of Elisabeth took him from a seat by the fire to his desk, so he could distract himself by turning to other opportunities. He was in the process of seeking to buy the last mill he did not already own in the area, sat on a hill near the hamlet of Northbourne, driven by both the stream of that name, as well as the wind. Achieved, he would have a monopoly on locally milled flour, and so be able to supply the bakery he already owned.
With the supply of meat also under his control, he could then sell his products at any price he chose, the main customers to be fleeced not the locals but the merchant vessels using the Downs. No ship could sail for foreign parts without it had the requisite supplies of salted meat in the barrel as well as ship’s biscuit, and they would be obliged to pay what was asked.
If a national war and the convoys came again, the income from that would be huge. The fellow who owned the Northbourne mill, who had been in this very room two days previously, was disinclined to sell, even when Tulkington had considerably upped his offer, to still be rebuffed. Was it time that the man got a visit from Hawker – and would that work, for he was a stupidly stubborn cove? There was another solution, of course: the employment of torches to burn him out.
‘Henry,’ his aunt said from a flung-open door, to take his mind off such ruminations. ‘I have been looking all over for Elisabeth.’
There was no need to add more, given the look on her face, while it was clear she expected her nephew to be alarmed. It threw her when he smiled; rare enough in itself, doubly so now.
‘Fear not, Aunt Sarah, I have given orders she is not to be allowed to leave.’
‘Then I am tempted to ask you where she is. There is no sign of her in the drive.’
‘She likes to walk the grounds of a morning, does she not?’
‘With the dogs, yes, yet they are within the house gates and whining to be let out.’
‘Send a servant down to Tanner to remind him of my instructions.’ There was no smile now. ‘If he has failed in his duty, the only person going out of the gate will be him, at the end of my boot.’
To arrive on foot at the Colpoys house a second time occasioned less surprise than the first. The gate was opened and the servant’s forelock touched in respect, though he could not avoid a glance down at Betsey’s mud-caked footwear, half-covered with good dark-brown loam. She used the boot scraper to get the worst off before ascending the steps to use the polished knocker.
A glance upwards immediately showed three eager faces as the Colpoys’ brats looked to see who had come, but not for long, no doubt called to order by their governess who, apparently, was a demon with the birch and needed to be. A liveried servant opened the door and, knowing well the caller, stepped aside to let Betsey in while announcing his intention to fetch madam from her boudoir and her embroidery.
Betsey was left for much longer than she would have expected, which at least allowed her to remove her still-mud-caked boots, which revealed the bottom of her dress had not escaped the same degree of impairment. When Annabel did finally appear, the servant at her back, there was something discomfiting about the cast of her features. There was certainly no effusive welcome, quite the reverse.
‘Have you come to take away your pony?’
‘Partly that, but I have an even greater boon to ask of you.’
The response should have been as it was the day before, immediately concerned, but it was not.
‘Henry has sought to confine me. The gateman had instructions not to let me leave so I had no choice but to sneak out. It may be that I will have to abandon living at Cottington, which means I must find a place to lay my head, should it come to be necessary.’
‘Abandon?’
‘If I cannot remain there, Annabel.’
Her voice rose to a higher pitch in reply. ‘Such an extreme reaction, merely because of a quarrel with Henry?’
‘I have not yet told you of the seat of our difference.’
Annabel looked down at Betsey’s now stockinged feet, as well as the filthy hem and said in a distant way, ‘No, you have not and I am at a loss to know, as is my husband, who was surprised I did not enquire.’
It was in a slightly terse voice with which Betsey responded. ‘Am I to be invited in, or will I be obliged to explain my reasons in the hallway?’
She meant in front of a servant, who had already heard too much, all of which would soon be gossip below stairs in any number of houses.
‘Take Mrs Langridge’s cloak.’
This being said over her shoulder, Annabel headed for the drawing room and a disrobed Betsey followed, to find her friend stood by the fireplace looking rigid in her posture. There was only one way to shake that, which was by employing a jolt, but first it was essential to close the door so as not to be overheard.
‘Henry objects to the notion I might marry again.’ There was no response and, more tellingly, no invitation to sit, so it was with some trepidation that Betsey continued. ‘I met someone in the Caribbean whom I found to be congenial company and he has followed me to Deal.’
‘Someone?’
‘And he wishes to marry you?’
‘Henry doesn’t only object to the notion of my marrying, he has taken violently against Captain Brazier, to the point of threatening to bar him from entry to Cottington Court. Also, prior to his latest strictures, he declined to allow me a coach or a horse, which is why I arrived on foot yesterday.’
‘So you wished to borrow a horse to go and see this fellow?’
‘Do I detect a note of disapproval?’
‘I would be bound to say, Elisabeth, that such an action as you undertook borders not only on the rash, but is enough to ruin you if it became public knowledge. A widow running after a prospective lover, forsooth, and with scant discretion.’
‘I think I implied a prospective husband,’ Betsey said, her heart stung by the use of her proper name by such a close friend.
‘I fail to see the difference. If you are prepared to throw yourself at this man’s feet, who’s to know what silly acts will follow? Or the ramifications that will flow from them and who they will affect.’
‘What has changed, Annabel? Why are you so very different today, when yesterday you were glad to see me and, as one of my oldest companions, eager to help?’
‘Perhaps, with what you have just told me, I can see that your brother has just cause to seek to restrain you from your own folly.’
‘I came hoping, indeed believing, you would give me temporary shelter if I required it.’
Annabel turned her back and laid a hand on the mantelpiece. ‘Which would make me and this house party to your behaviour.’
‘Is not that what friends are for?’
‘Real friends do not risk the reputation of those they say they hold dear.’
‘I sense my request for shelter is not welcome.’
Back still turned, Annabel replied in a strained voice. ‘I’m sorry, Elisabeth, I cannot in all consciousness oblige you with such a promise.’
Stung, Betsey responded. ‘I trust at least I may retrieve my pony?’
‘Ask the stable lad to get him out for you.’
There was no goodbye from either. Betsey went out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her, and sat on a chair to replace her ankle boots, cursing under her breath as she buttoned them up, while being equally dismayed at the exchange in which she had just engaged. Inside the room Annabel was leaning on the mantelpiece, her head against the hand that rested still on the carved wood; she was weeping. Never a woman to tolerate blaspheming, she was doing so in a vehement whisper now.
‘Damn you, Roger Colpoys, damn you.’
Even if she hated having to do so, Annabel Colpoys was obliged to obey her husband, who had been furious when Betsey left the day before. Any suggestion that an act of his house should cause grief to Henry Tulkington was not to be allowed to occur. Her pleas to be told why not were ignored and, when she pressed, found her threatened with the riding crop.
Canasta was led out on a simple rope halter, the bridle of the same material. Given there was no saddle, it was an abashed stable lad who had to respond to the questioning look.
‘Mr Colpoys’ orders, Ma’am.’
Betsey took the rope and turned towards the gate. ‘Do remember to thank him for me.’
She held her tears till she was far enough away not to be observed. Only then did she lay her head against that of Canasta and cry, feeling an acute sense of isolation. There were other friends from her past, but none that lived so close as to be of any help. And they too might react like Annabel. The thought of Stephen’s mother rose up to be dismissed; how could she consider asking to stay with her when she was contemplating a union with another man?
It would have possibly cheered her to know that, back at Cottington Court, her continued non-appearance had become the subject of consternation, with Henry Tulkington quite changed from the sanguine mood of earlier. His aunt, having made sure Elisabeth had not left by the main gate, had sent the servants out to search the grounds and check if anyone had seen her at the various gates – kitchen garden and access to the farms or in the church – all to no avail. A long-walled estate had other exits, doors that had been checked and were barred from the inside.
Henry’s first response was to harass those same servants into getting his coach horses into their harness but, that done, it stood waiting for a master who did not appear. He was back in his study, hands on the mantle, staring once more at the fire, having suppressed his immediate desire to go in pursuit of Elisabeth and, if need be, drag her back by the hair. It simply would not serve. Experience, both above and below the legal line, had convinced him that, just like dealing with Daniel Spafford, time was an ally.
According to his aunt, the association between Elisabeth and this Brazier was of short duration. She was besotted by a fellow she did not really know and one, moreover, who had shown no compunction in lying to her about how he had come about his cuts and bruises. These had been described to him in detail by Tanner, which moderated his anger towards the gateman on the previous night.
A complete reversal of his position would not be wise; Elisabeth would smoke that as an invention. But he could soften in the face of such determination, as he had appeared to do with Langridge, then set enquiries afoot as to the nature and reputation of Brazier. It was typical of an enamoured woman to describe the man they admired as being a paragon, while he had never in his life met anyone who could truthfully claim the tag. All had flaws; the trick was to find them.
Added to which, and the thought produced a rare smile, he could always set Hawker on Brazier again; let the scoundrel explain that away as falling off his horse! First he would write to his uncle in London, requesting that he gather information which, in his capacity as a King’s Counsel, and one who moved in the highest social and governmental circles, might produce something of use in the denigration line.
That arrived at, he still had to go after Elisabeth and try to persuade her to return with him so, rising from his chair, he went out to his waiting coach only to see her, in the distance, coming up the driveway, leading a pony. He waited by the traces, his Aunt Sarah, having been alerted to this apparition, taking up station in the front doorway.
Both observed, as she came closer, the shoulders were far from square; there was a physical attitude to go with the tear-stained face and partly unpinned hair. Two servants opened the gate to let her through, one taking the rope and leading Canasta away. She looked at her brother with nothing even hinting at regard, only to hear him say very softly,
‘I was going out to find you, Elisabeth. You may not take it as true, but I was worried and, seeing you now in a somewhat dishevelled state, it seems my concerns were justified.’
‘I must go and change, Henry.’
‘Of course. But that done, please come to me so we can talk.’
‘What point is there in that?’ she asked, with eyes on the ground.
‘If we exchange views, it may be there is one. Within the hour, shall we say?’
‘Very well,’ she replied, passing by him, only to stop and turn, straighten her shoulders and meet his gaze directly. ‘Tanner, at the gate. Do not overly chastise him. I threatened the poor fellow with a prison hulk and worse if he did not let me pass.’
Henry was able to manufacture a kindly look, while recording the fact of her blatant lie. Tanner reported he had seen Elisabeth approach the gate, but he had refused her permission to leave as instructed, his last sight of her heading back up the drive. This meant Elisabeth had taken another route out and, given the various gates were barred from the inside and had been seen to be so in the last hour, it implied she had assistance from one of the estate servants.
That was a problem to be dealt with, but not right now. For the moment a touch of blandishment was more appropriate. ‘Few would be formidable enough to gainsay you, sister, if you were determined, would they?’
As ever the study was too hot and Betsey, in an initial act of defiance, left open the door and waited for the reaction; there was none, or at least not what was expected. Having been sat, Henry stood to greet her.
‘Now you look much more yourself. I shall order tea.’ He waited, obviously for a response, but none came, though it was clear by her posture the spirit that animated her was back in full force. ‘It would be best to sit.’
Betsey made for the card table, this set at a decent distance from the burning logs, while Henry occupied a chair close by but facing her. ‘Would it be possible to say we have both been foolish, Elisabeth?’
‘It is not a word I would want to apply to myself.’
‘Headstrong, then?’ Seeing her face close up he was quick to add, ‘It matters not, really. We are where we are, and I for one have come to the conclusion matters cannot stay the way they are.’
‘If you seek to confine me to the house, they most certainly will.’
‘I do not expect you to accept that I was only concerned to protect you.’
‘From?’
‘Yourself?’ Again she frowned. ‘And I admit to perhaps overreacting to what I perceived.’
‘Which is?’
‘Let us not reprise what we already know. Suffice to say I knew before he walked through the door to this room why Brazier had come to Cottington and so, I suspect, did you. I count you as headstrong, and I use that word in memory of how you were in the matter of Langridge.’
‘Surely you mean Stephen.’
‘Forgive me – a habit and a bad one, to refer to someone become a relative by their surname. When he asked for your hand you were in your minority, so I had the right to ask if such a union was both wise and proper.’
‘One I can recall only too well: a right that you exercised to the full.’
‘But I did come round in the end, which at least you must acknowledge.’
If the face was set and she was silent, her response so obviously had to be yes Henry did not wait for it to be confirmed.
‘I am at an earlier stage with these proposed nuptials, but experience tells me I will not quickly change my view, even if I am prepared to admit to the possibility. All I ask is that you show discretion. Allow time for your real feelings to be established beyond peradventure. It would be tragic if you were mistaken.’
Betsey had to hold steady in the face of that advice; she had harboured similar thoughts regarding too much haste. Henry seemed not to notice and continued in his placatory tone.
‘You are free to come and go as you wish, and to use whatever mode of transport you desire. I have been too harsh in my restrictions.’
‘And Captain Brazier?’
He had to admire her refusal just to accept his mellowing, but noted her caution in the naming of the swine pursuing her. There was no Edward!
‘You may receive him as you wish, properly chaperoned, of course.’
‘And you?’
‘Not yet, in time perhaps. For now it would be best to invite him on those occasions when I am absent. Meanwhile, you may wish to see to the sending of this.’
Henry rose and came close to hand over a letter, which caused raised eyebrows when Betsey read the superscription.
‘It is, in part, an apology to Captain Brazier for my previous manner of addressing him, though I would admit it is far from effusive. Oh, and I commiserated with him, of course, for the injuries he suffered falling off his horse.’