It was commonplace for a naval captain to keep a list of men he could call followers – prime hands and petty officers who, in the event of his getting a ship, especially should there be the threat of war, he could call on to join him – and Brazier was no exception. Among them were the contact addresses of the men who had formed his barge crew aboard HMS Diomede, provided so that their dependants could draw upon their pay warrants and to which would be sent any notification of death or injury.
These men went everywhere with their captain; in ship visits to colleagues or admirals or to take him ashore and off again. More vitally, if he took part in an opposed landing, or boarded an enemy vessel, they were the people at his side. Those who volunteered to man His Majesty’s ships hailed from seaports in the main and, when discharged, it was to those they returned, Chatham and Portsmouth being the most common, though there were numerous others: Plymouth, Falmouth, Harwich as well as a dozen more of the size of Deal. It was to such places the letters were sent, some never to be read, given the intended recipient was absent, possibly having taken service on a merchant vessel, but others found their mark.
The coxswain of HMS Diomede, Tom ‘Dutchy’ Holland, who had commanded his barge crew, had been at Brazier’s side in some hot actions and he was a doughty fighter, which was required now. Post for him went to the Old Quay Inn, which lay at the head of Restronguet Creek off the Carrick Roads above Falmouth Harbour, a place where there was work and pay from private boat owners for a man with Dutchy’s skills.
He was working on the rigging of a private yacht belonging to a Mr Dobson when alerted, which took him to the Old Quay Inn to find out what was afoot, the notion of his receiving a written communication enough reason for gossip well before the contents were known. Once read to him he requested a reply be sent at once, pledged his credit to the innkeeper for some silver coin, before going to his lodgings to pack a ditty bag and tell his woman he was off to serve his captain. Given he had spent much of their time as a couple at sea there was no protest, as long as she could be sure of a supply of money to feed her and their three children.
‘Take my regrets to Mr and Mrs Dobson, for he is a good man and she a kindly soul, but when such as Captain Brazier calls, it cannot be ignored. The Turk has said he will make arrangements as soon as I get to his side, so you drop by the Old Quay regular until how it’s to be done is told you.’
Of the dozen letters Brazier had despatched, four had engendered replies. This put the recipients, from various places around the country, on the road to Deal, walking where they must, hitching rides on carts if they were available. Within a short time of taking occupation of Quebec House, Brazier could reckon on having not only his favourite servant to see to his needs, but also a trio of hard-fisted scrappers to watch his back.
Having Betsey visit his new abode after a week of occupation was welcome, if stifling; her aunt was in the far-from-spacious drawing room the whole time, which made any kind of conversation stilted and replete with banalities, this as tea was offered, infused and poured. Brazier had visited Cottington once, at a time when the brother was away on his affairs and they, with the obligatory and very welcome walk in the grounds, had been freer in terms of exchange.
Betsey had made use of the church in order to distract her aunt and so he had met the old soak of a priest, the Reverend Doctor who had the living. The navy had its serious drunks and Brazier had been exposed to a number of them, but he wondered if any could hold a candle to Moyle. It was mid-morning and, if he was not actually so drunk he could not function, he was very obviously far from completely sober.
This kind of visiting demanded he pay his respects to the man’s wife and, in Mrs Moyle, he found a cause for true sympathy. The length of her suffering was in her face and body, she being a woman who looked as if she scarcely ate, while her manner was fussily remorseful. Tea was offered but declined and off they went to continue what conversation could be managed.
Yet there could be no physical contact apart from a bestowed kiss on the hand when departing, a restriction that he knew was troubling Betsey as much as he in an increasingly obvious way. Did she perceive the level of frustration in his eyes as much as he discerned in hers? The only person he could even talk to about this was Flaherty, a man equally smitten and even more frustrated by it.
‘It would be easier if she had never been married, Vincent. But she has and is therefore accustomed to a relationship that is physically unhindered.’
‘Sure I am that, having met the lady, my patience too would be sorely tested.’
‘Enough of my moans. Have you found anything out?’
‘For a place where rumour is rife and gossip a way of life, the folk round here can be mighty tight-lipped, even after my having lived here come two years. I mentioned care to you before, Edward, and I worry that I don’t know the whys and wherefores of to whom I am talking. It is a place where it is wise to know the cousinage, who’s related to who, when you query to a body.’
‘You said to me that Saoirse knew everything that went on in Deal.’
‘Well, if she has knowledge of this, she is not saying. When I asked her I got a look that said to mind my own business.’
‘Does that not imply she does have information?’
‘None she’s willing to give out. Happen if you asked on your own account, she might be more forthcoming. I have to beat around the bush, whereas you can enquire direct.’
Brazier might acknowledge the truth of such an assertion, but he also had to admit the notion of him visiting the Playhouse and asking was impossible. On receiving the note of commiseration from Tulkington, he had deduced he would be a fool to accept the sentiments expressed. Could it be such a man had performed even the half volte-face to which he alluded? This implied he still disapproved, but would not stand in his sister’s way.
Was he being cunning, which led to an examination of what he might be up to? If the folk of Deal were not being open about the fabled Daisy, they were very much willing to claim to know Henry Tulkington and in a way that indicated familiarity with his prominence.
The lawyer to whom he would pay his rent had initially shown surprise bordering on alarm at the mention of the name, only to then praise to the rafters a local worthy so very successful in his enterprises. He was also not shy, it appeared, when called upon to gift funds to local projects, the most pressing presently being the aim to lay the three main, prone-to-mud thoroughfares with cobblestones.
The tradesmen who called at Quebec House to supply food and drink also responded with respect when the name was mentioned. So he now knew the family had been prominent in Deal for several generations, the father having enhanced an already high standing in the community. The commendations he heard were hard to square with the misery guts he had encountered, a point forcibly made to Flaherty who sought to advise his friend.
‘Even I know you won’t hear much said against the Tulkington name, Edward, but does it occur that that might be because he’s rich and thus not a man to cross? Money makes cowards of us who must sell our services, be it horseflesh or tea.’
‘Speaking of which, I have become a dab hand at the making of the brew, which would astound some who know me.’
Brazier alluded to the brewing of the leaves in a deliberate change of subject, He had no desire to include Flaherty in the train of his thoughts: recurring ones in which he speculated that folk who talked freely to him of the Tulkington family virtues would be just as willing to talk to Henry about him and, in a small town like this, there were people present to observe his every move.
‘And what about the fellow who taxes it so to render it a luxury?’
‘I’m off to see the Pitt tomorrow – to entertain his sister, I suspect, more than any desire on his part.’
‘It’s as well your black eye is fading.’
Brazier automatically moved his back, as if checking it had ceased to cause discomfort, noting the hesitation before Flaherty spoke again: not just the gap in his conversation but the look on his face, which appeared embarrassed.
‘I hate to bring this to your attention, but in pursuit of what you seek, I have taken my eye off my business these last ten days.’
‘I also suspect it has occasioned some expense?’
‘That grin you’re wearing looks mighty self-satisfied, Edward.’
‘It is not intended to be, I assure you. I didn’t raise it for fear of causing offence. You recall when we first met with Saoirse, she referred to the – what shall I call it? – the impecunious nature of your affairs. I trust you not to have been indulging in high-value clarets, but I’m aware, even on such a short acquaintance, almost all of what takes place in Deal, both socially and in business, does so in proximity to drink.’
‘Very true.’
‘Some of which you are obliged to purchase in the hope of loosening tongues?’
Flaherty grinned. ‘I will own to it not always being a duty.’
‘It is nevertheless on my behalf, so must fall to my account.’
‘It is a sum I cannot demonstrate.’
‘You don’t have to, Vincent. I will take it on trust.’
That took away the grin, to be replaced with contrived wonder. ‘From a dealer in horseflesh?’
‘Even in such a benighted occupation, there must be one honest fellow.’
‘Not a wager I would take.’
Flaherty produced a list of his outgoings, passed over for Brazier to examine, which was brief and non-committal. He left the room for a short period to return with a written note.
‘Take this to Mr Davies, the advocate in King Street. He is treasurer of the council and has a stout safe for municipal funds. He is acting as my banker on remittances sent to him from London.’
‘So you’ve taken my advice?’
‘About not carrying around a purse full of guineas? Yes I have. I cannot be sure that for all that was said about Daisy, the pair who came at me were not just set on robbery. They were, after all, disturbed.’
The frustrations of Edward Brazier could not compare with those of the woman he was intent on marrying. While hating to admit her brother had been right, Betsey occupied a great deal of her time thinking of the man in pursuit of her and what might transpire, with all the caveats she could conjure up surfacing regularly, not least that she might be deluding herself to thinking of marrying a man she really hardly knew.
Their meetings in Jamaica were constantly reprised as she sought clues for the point at which pleasure in his company had morphed into something more profound. Likewise here at home, though exchanges, which might be overheard by her aunt, did nothing to establish enlightenment. Yet on the chaperoned walks she could feel that strange sensation brought on by his proximity and his voice.
Activity would have helped to fill a portion of her day but, being a lady of leisure, she was not required to do much, even in the domestic line. At Cottington Court, that was overseen − and the role tenaciously hung on to − by her Aunt Sarah. In the West Indies, Betsey had run her own household, which included overseeing the recruitment or, in very occasional cases, the dismissal of house servants. The latter a matter for very careful consideration, given it would send a household slave to back-breaking field work on one of the plantations.
Betsey had to have her tolerance tested to the limit to even think of imposing such a fate on someone who had ceased to be just a face. If she felt uneasiness now, it had not surfaced as readily back then. How easy it had been to forget, mostly down to their obliging manner, that the servants who worked in the Langridge house were not present by choice.
Here the household servants occupied the attics or, in the case of the gardeners and stable lads, a cottage for the first and a loft for the latter. In Jamaica they had occupied a thatched sort of barracks, well away from the house – further even than the stables – a long hut split in the middle to keep apart the sexes, with one of the estate guards on duty overnight, tasked to ensure they stayed that way.
Part of her responsibilities, early in the morning, had been to meet with the head retainer to arrange the running of the day. Were she and Stephen in or out for dinner? If not, were they expecting guests? If going out, at what time would the carriage and the master’s horse have to be ready, her maid already alerted to the required clothing for the occasion?
Entertaining would involve a discussion around place settings, chairs etc., and then a session with cook to plan the meal, with messages being sent to the various providers to supply what could not be accessed within the bounds of the home farm and vegetable beds, which she took to and enjoyed inspecting regularly; to do that here at Cottington was seen as prying.
There was, of course, endless visiting, which Betsey now undertook diligently, calling on the very same people who had attended her spring fete, all except Annabel Colpoys, who had shown her a cold shoulder at St Saviour’s these last two Sunday services. Her husband, Roger, had made a point of ignoring Betsey too, and kept his children from engaging with her, which was wounding. Odd that Moyle’s sermon had been gentle for once, his subject the benign nature of the Holy Spirit.
The fear they had gossiped and mentioned her intentions was ever present. Thus every visit to an old friend of herself or the family was an occasion of acute observation, seeking for the slightest hint that her reputation had been compromised. Duty demanded she visit Stephen’s mother and there her antennae were acute for any hint of scandal. If she thought it irrational, and Edward had quietly on their walk dismissed it as nonsense, it was nevertheless one of the norms of the society in which she lived.
A widow must show respect to her dear departed and not go husband hunting, or even be seen to enjoy the company of an unmarried man, until a decent interval had passed. If she showed the slightest inclination to stray from those constraints, her Aunt Sarah was there to remind her. Henry, on the other hand, had taken to never directly referring to the subject.
‘I shall be going away the day after tomorrow, Elisabeth, to London,’ he murmured, fork poised halfway to his mouth. ‘For several days and possibly a week.’
She had to suppress a feeling of excitement, which was not easy; luckily Henry went back to concentrating on his dinner by the time she replied. ‘To visit our Uncle Dirley, no doubt?’
‘Partly that, but there are other matters to address.’
‘Am I allowed to enquire as to what they would be?’
The superior smirk was infuriating. ‘Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.’
It was not vanity that made her accept the ‘pretty’. She never considered herself in that way: Betsey knew she had been favoured in the article of looks allied to health but, to her, gloating on it or seeking advantage was reckoned improper. But fury at the ‘little’ had her grip her cutlery very hard and nearly brought on an outburst. She had to tell herself to change the subject; condescension almost counted as natural behaviour for her brother, something she would bear in silence for the sake of her greater goal.
‘Why is it Dirley never visits us here?’
He seemed to require time to answer that question, which was odd. It should have come readily, since he knew his half-uncle very well and had been doing regular business with him ever since their father passed away. To Betsey he was close to being a stranger, even although he had handled the Langridge will, seeing to the transfer and continued smooth running of the plantations, all of which had been carried out through written correspondence.
‘He dislikes the country and prefers the town, but then there is the question of his …’ There was a pause and a feebly waved hand, as his aunt breathed heavily enough to ensure no untoward expressions were uttered, which led to an evasive conclusion: ‘You know.’
‘Do I? He seems like a mystery to me. I’ve not seen him since I was a child and can scarcely conjure up an image. To call him a distant relative is an understatement. He did not even attend my wedding.’
‘It might be a misnomer to name him as a true relative at all, Elisabeth,’ was the quiet opinion of Sarah Lovell. ‘The family repute might be tainted by his too-obvious presence.’
‘Surely the time for the shame of his birth is long past?’
The response was more forceful. ‘Is there ever such a period, dear girl, when shame is diminished?’
The hint was obvious: never mind your illegitimate Uncle Dirley, think of your own situation and guard it. Her brother started talking about the possible price of wheat, given there was the prospect of a good harvest at home and a poor one in France, at which point Betsey went back to her own private ruminations; the subject was of no interest to her whatsoever.
Joe Lascelles was the first of Brazier’s old crew to arrive, just as his one-time captain was in the act of departing for Walmer Castle. Indeed the door was open, Bonnie was outside, saddled and being held by a moonlighting Ben, who eyed Joe suspiciously as, ditty bag slung over his shoulder, he enquired for Quebec House. Africans were not unknown in Deal and neither, with the East Indian trade, were Lascars, but they were far from common.
‘Who be askin’?’
‘It is in the nature, young fellow, of my being polite, for I can now see very well that the name is writ over the door.’
The one-time son of a slave had not only the ability to read but, for his social position, a refined manner of speech, picked up in the houses of his father’s master and, given one of those residences was in Yorkshire, there was a tinge of the accent in his voice.
‘Is that you, Joe?’
Brazier voiced this enquiry as he approached the door from within and heard the exchange. He was greeted on exiting with that smile he remembered so well, which was one to light up a dark room.
‘None other, and about to clip this brat round the ear.’ There was little actual threat in that, not with a deep laugh to accompany it. ‘Do I detect I am come at an awkward time?’
‘I am bent upon an engagement for which I cannot delay.’ Brazier took the reins from Ben and introduced him to his new servant. ‘He’s a good lad and willing if you need anything.’
‘Food and a place to lay my head for an hour will suffice. I have been on the road for over two weeks and, being told I was close, I was up with the birds this day.’
‘There’s a spare latchkey hanging in the rear passage and food in the larder.’
‘And duties?’
‘You will see to them without aid from me and we can talk upon my return. Make yourself comfortable in one of the upper rooms. If you require water, use my name to draw it from the Navy Yard well. Also, keep an ear out for a trio of old shipmates coming to the house.’ That got a look and the names: ‘Dutchy Holland, Peddler Palmer and Cocky Logan.’
‘Which will have me head scratching worse than Peddler as to why.’
‘Later, Joe,’ Brazier said, hauling himself into the saddle. ‘I must be off, given a late arrival is to be avoided.’