‘Why would that have any bearing? Admiral Hassall died in bizarre circumstances, I acknowledge, but—?’
Pitt was looking at him in a way not inclined to induce a feeling of ease, while Brazier sought to create an expression that showed, he hoped, a combination of query and mystification. There was a case to answer and he knew he was dealing with a sharp brain – few more so – which presaged this conversation going in a difficult direction, one he would struggle to deflect.
It was another of those occasions when silence served better than words and, as with Flaherty, he was dealing with a fellow who knew the game, willing to play it with a cold and steady stare. The length of time that lasted indicated, perhaps, that Pitt was hoping for some kind of explanation, but he was not going to get one and nor was he going to hear anything that had not been included in that despatch.
‘Bizarre?’ Pitt said finally, picking up his wine glass and draining it. ‘A curious word, is it not?’
‘Fits the bill, I would say.’
A twitch of the lips, but far from a smile. ‘You were at sea when it happened, I believe.’
‘I was hove to off Kingston harbour the very night he died, waiting for the tide to make possible an entry into what is a difficult port, given the direction of the prevailing wind.’
‘Yet you were told it had occurred.’
‘I was, come morning.’
‘Yet still you waited until you had dropped anchor to act. Faced with news, you chose not to boat in and investigate the circumstances? I find that strange.’
‘It seemed unnecessary given he was already dead. I was told he had been laid out and the doctors were examining the body.’
How in the name of the devil did Pitt know all this, and why was he probing? If Brazier had failed to go ashore in his barge, did he know the reverse had occurred? That he had been visited by his fellow captains aboard Diomede, five in number if you included a pair of masters and commanders, and that did not include Hassall’s flag captain, who had stayed aboard his own vessel? If Pitt was querying the nature of the admiral’s death, so had he and to little effect.
He could recall the wary responses his questions produced, just as vivid the memory of the way those present had assumed him complicit in what had happened, this because the villainy of Hassall had been the subject of prior discussions. Had he not said before weighing, something would have to be done to curtail his superior’s greed, while writing to the Admiralty, which had been posited, would not serve without irrefutable proof?’
Pitt had been right about intelligence: it was the lifeblood of any attempt to enforce the Navigation Acts and Admiral Sir Lowell Hassall had been in receipt of a great deal. The Royal Navy had spies in every port from Charleston to Caracas, so the various Caribbean commands were well furnished with information. Just as vital was the local ear to the ground, picking up unguarded gossip from subjects of the Crown only too willing to aid others in transgressing the law.
All of this information came to Hassall, ostensibly to be disbursed to his cruising captains, thus ensuring all shared in prosperity. The devious old sod had aimed for the precise opposite, setting up an arrangement with a one-time French privateer, to whom he gifted what information was gleaned, which allowed the rogue to intercept a goodly number of the blockade runners before the navy.
Under normal circumstances, when his inferiors captured a vessel a commanding admiral under whose flag they sailed would get an eighth of the value on what was a very well-remunerated station. By this arrangement he was thought to be garnering half of the value – worse, he was depriving his own officers of any share at all.
‘Your despatch stated his wish to be buried at sea, which was carried out with some alacrity?’
‘Yes.’
‘Arrived at how?’
‘I daresay he mentioned it in passing, but I can’t quite recall.’
‘Lady Hassall was adamant in his wish to be buried in the graveyard at Church Stretton, where the rest of his family are interred in a family vault. Indeed, he is reputed to have asked that, in the event of him expiring in the Caribbean, his body should be returned home, preserved in a puncheon of rum. Lord Howe was beset by her on the very matter and he could only plead climate as an excuse, supposing that to demand a swift disposal of a cadaver. Of course, with no body …’
It was Pitt’s turn to leave a question hanging in the air, one to which his guest could only respond with raised eyebrows. The doctors had spoken of contusions on the arms and a bruise of the head, which they had accepted might have been brought in the struggle to fight off the venom killing him.
‘I wrote to ask Sir Joseph Banks about snakes,’ Pitt continued. ‘He replied there were none venomous in Jamaica, but any number on the French and other sugar islands. It is therefore curious there was such a creature, not only in Sir Lowell’s bedroom, but in a position to sink its fangs into him.’
‘There are slaves on Jamaica who keep snakes. We could only suppose one had escaped.’
‘To be killed itself not long after the foul deed.’
‘I doubt you can call foul a snake doing that for which it was created.’
‘It would apply if it had been introduced into Sir John’s bedroom by human agency.’
The laugh was manufactured. ‘A fanciful notion.’
‘Not according to a certain correspondent, who sent an anonymous missive saying that very thing had happened.’ Brazier felt a strange sensation in his stomach, though his humorous look remained fixed. ‘It arrived on the same mail packet as your despatch. It was also reported that you and Sir Lowell had engaged in a very heated argument prior to your leaving on that aforementioned cruise. Is there any truth in the story?’
‘The admiral could be choleric and sometimes it was necessary to question his judgement, forcibly so. As his immediate subordinate it fell to me to do so, but I was not alone in wondering at some of his dispositions. Other captains shared and voiced my concerns.’
‘And the nature of the argument?’
‘It was felt he was ordering us to place our vessels in locations where the chances of interdicting illegal traffic were limited.’
‘And it was not just you who thought so.’
‘It was all of his captains, with the exception of the fellow who commanded his flagship, but he rarely left harbour and was certainly not in the business of enforcing the Navigation Acts. That is work for frigates and sloops.’
Brazier could well recall the dispute alluded to, as well as the level of noise the pair had generated in Hassall’s’ private quarters; it could have been overheard, for they ended up exchanging loud insults. Brazier was called a liar and nothing but an ingrate, his commanding officer cursed as a common thief, as well as a disgrace to the service. Even faced with verbal evidence, allied to the total absence of any captures by his own officers, Hassall had forcibly denied any knowledge of the accusations.
Capturing cargoes was only one part of the criminality: they only had value when sold, something that could only take place without attracting unwelcome attention in a small number of harbours, these in French Haiti, Cuba and the Spanish coastal possessions of the Gulf of Mexico. Unknown to Hassall and without orders, Brazier had placed a watch on these, using his own crew as well as midshipmen in pinnaces and mast-rigged cutters.
They had observed obvious captures being taken into Jacmel in Southern Haiti, escorted by a sloop under a fleur-de-lys pennant, before returning to Kingston to tell their captain. Following the row and Hassall’s denial – he had threatened his accuser with a court martial and dismissal from the service – Brazier weighed in HMS Diomede, his aim to locate the Frenchman and take his ship. He would fetch him back to Kingston if he could, which, once he confessed the connection, would result in a hanging for him and disgrace for the admiral.
In doing so he had left behind an ambiguous message about action being necessary and one someone on station had taken as a signal to act, showing great ingenuity in their method as well as an extensive knowledge of arcane local customs. Venomous snakes were brought in from Guadeloupe and Martinique to be used in wildly ecstatic religious ceremonies amongst the slave population, both heavily frowned on but impossible to stop.
Brazier had missed his quarry, which had taken him swiftly back to Kingston, to find Hassall dead. As now the senior officer on station, and suspecting a combination of his words and the actions of others had led to the man’s demise, he quickly ordered that burial at sea unaware, till his valet protested, of what Hassel had desired on the matter of being sent home for interment.
That put to one side he was left free to study the latest intelligence the admiral had acquired: what he found sent him rushing back to sea again, piling on all sail to make an unexpected rendezvous off Veracruz.
‘So,’ Pitt said, using his fingers to sum up, ‘we have a dead admiral who expired in the most strange circumstances, from a non-native species of snake, and no body, it being at the bottom of the sea? One goes from bizarre to extraordinary.’
‘It is easy to make what is innocent sound suspicious.’
‘True, but it’s always an engaging diversion to think of how you could kill someone without any danger of being apprehended for the crime, is it not?’
‘For a devious mind, possibly. I’m a simple sailor, who prefers to look into the eyes of those with whom I am quarrelling. I’m curious as to whom you would visit such a fate upon, given the chance.’
‘Oh, it is mere fancy,’ Pitt shrugged. ‘But I suspect a mind that will contemplate such an act may also be one capable of the act and, if the agency of the deed falls to another, so much the better?’
It was time to fight back. ‘All this speculation is based on an anonymous letter, you say?’
‘It is.’
‘You seem to be convinced of the veracity of this missive.’
‘Not convinced. Made curious, enough so to wonder at what further enquires might produce.’
There was a simple way out of this, but it was also impossible. He could name the fellow captains he had left behind and, if no one had admitted to the exploit when they told him of it, at least one had to have either put it in train or even helped to carry it out. Another memory was their refusal to do anything other than display collective responsibility, in which they were keen to include their new commanding officer.
Ditching them did not enter his thinking; they were his contemporaries, his fellow officers, and he would not shame himself by trying to preserve his own skin through sacrificing theirs. His only option was to challenge Pitt, which he proceeded to do.
‘The only way to answer the problem you set is to institute those enquiries. But first you must find the person who composed the accusation, which I posit would be far from easy, given they clearly have no wish to be identified.’
‘As yet I am undecided. But I could ask the Lord Chancellor to act on the letter and clap anyone considered to be complicit in gaol, pending the result.’ The look became crafty. ‘Six weeks to the Caribbean at least, six back and Lord only knows how many to seek the truth. Then, of course, weather might extend the time. Hardly a comfortable situation to be in, I would say.’
‘That sounds like blackmail.’
‘Then for once in my life, I have struck the perfect note.’
How many witnesses had there been to his row with Hassall? It could run into dozens given the location, his accommodation also housing the Naval Headquarters. Then there was the lack of discretion shown by both parties, not only in the volume, but the subject. Had he threatened the man with the fate he eventually suffered? He could not clearly recollect doing so, but he had been in a high enough passion at the time and he had come close to doing so subsequently to others.
He took out his watch and flipped it open. ‘I fear I have occupied too much of your time.’
‘Your answer, sir?’
‘What answer?’
‘To the notion posed earlier.’
‘That I, a stranger in these parts, should seek to expose activity which, by its very nature, is clandestine? I dislike the notion of incarceration, sir, but that is preferable to a knife in the ribs or a marlin spike on the crown. I know no one and, if I do not have knowledge of Deal, I can be sure they will barely trust each other on such a matter, let alone an outsider.’
‘Of which I am doubly cursed.’
‘I can appreciate your desperation, but I must say to you, find someone else.’
‘Not even for a ship of the line?’
Brazier stood. ‘I thank you for the dinner, Mr Pitt, as well as the tale someone has invented to amuse idle minds. I will see it as an obligation to return the compliment of the table, if nothing else. Now I bid you good day.’
If he had expected disappointment, it was not granted; Pitt looked positively smug. He too stood, to execute a minimal bow and call for a servant to fetch Brazier’s hat.
‘There is one more thing. Mr Garlick tells me you have a connection to the Tulkingtons of Cottington Court?’ It was pointless to say the sod talked too much: both men knew it already. ‘Is that true?’
‘I cannot see that I am required to give an answer to something that is not of your concern.’
‘The family are very prominent locally, though really that applies to Henry Tulkington, who is the local Collector of Taxes and, I must say, assiduous in the pursuit of the duty. There’s never any question as to the accuracy of his accounts. If all those holding such offices were to apply themselves as he does, the Exchequer would be in very much better shape.’
‘So?’
‘It is often speculated that smuggling is opportunistic, Captain Brazier: a case of small luggers or fishing smacks making dashes across the water when circumstances permit. There is that, of course, but given the amount of goods I suspect are being landed and sold, I posit, as I said earlier, there is something of greater substance afoot.’
‘The proof being?’
‘If you were to put the assumed consumption of tea alone against the revenues collected, as I have done, you would have no doubts. It has become a national disgrace. I’ve been told some traders even coach down to Kent from London to collect what is landed, which hardly fits with speculation.’
Pitt paused to see if that brought on a reaction, only to be faced with none. His guest was not going to be drawn.
‘What it indicates, Captain Brazier, is an industry and to create and maintain such a trade requires resources, while nothing I see on Deal Beach leads me to suspect it is organised from there. No, what is taking place requires a high degree of application and no small sums of money with which to invest. Are there people locally who could run such an enterprise, yet still remain in the shadows?’
‘Perhaps?’ was the guarded response.
‘No, the wit to contrive such an extensive trade is not within the capacity of country farmers or Deal boatmen to manage. I suspect it to be organised from London, but that does not debar any tendril of the process being local. Indeed, it would have to be, and I suspect, if there’s a weak link with which to break the whole thing apart, it is to be found around this coast.’
‘I am still at a loss to know what you’re driving at.’
‘With a connection to Tulkington, you would be bound to mingle with the most prosperous people in this part of the county, perhaps the very folk who could form an association to facilitate this nefarious trade.’
‘You mean I should become your spy, using as an entrée a family of which I wish to be a part?’
‘An unguarded word at some social gathering might produce untold results.’
‘How different is the dignity that a King’s officer holds dear, as compared to that of a politician.’
The smile was thin. ‘Pragmatism overrides dignity when the nation is in need.’
It was a pensive naval officer who walked Bonnie back to find the note and sketch from Betsey. Joe Lascelles had got to work and cleaned Quebec House to his own standard, using vinegar. He was also quick to bring him coffee, the odours of both bringing back the familiar smell of life at sea. The coffee was sipped as he read Betsey’s note, which had him laying plans.
Tempted to try that gate now, he had to acknowledge it was too late in the day – and besides, he could not get his conversation with Pitt out of his mind, not least that in asking him, the fellow must truly be desperate. How odd that a man who should be able to marshal all the power of the state seemed so hamstrung.
‘John?’ he called, the white smiling teeth coming quick. ‘Do you recall the loss of Admiral Hassall?’
‘From what I heard, it weren’t no loss.’
‘Heard?’
The smile evaporated. ‘You sure you wish an answer to that, Capt’n?’
‘Why not?’
A reply was not swift in coming; it took a direct look from Brazier before he spoke. ‘Word was you threatened to skewer the old sod. An’ you used high words, did you not?’
‘Common knowledge?’
‘Ship was full of it.’
‘Anything else talked of?’
‘If I were to say that the crew reckoned we would never have taken Santa Clara with the admiral alive, does that add up to an answer?’
In his naval career Edward Brazier had experienced thieving, first as a midshipman, then as a divisional lieutenant and a captain, even if it was far from endemic in warships. Mostly the crew dealt with matters without recourse to a blue coat, but sometimes it got so out of hand as to require action. Rare on a frigate, even manned with three hundred souls at full complement, it was many times more likely to arise on the largest line-of-battle ships, carrying over eight hundred men, especially in wartime when many were pressed landsmen.
One of the things revealed was the way culprits went from first stealing trifles to seeking more and more valuable booty, until things that were barely missed morphed into serious thievery. Sir Lowell Hassall had been no different to the meanest common seaman in that regard. Having lined his pockets on the backs of his officers, and due to be replaced, he had alerted his Frenchman to a Spanish ship carrying silver, leaving Veracruz for Cádiz, and sent him after it – perhaps as a final act of treachery, which would net him the great fortune he so obviously craved.
With solid information and in a fast sailing frigate, as well as a crack and fully trained crew, Brazier had intercepted the privateer as well as his recent capture. The fight had been brief and bloody, the French barquentine standing no chance against a Royal Navy frigate boasting thirty-two well-worked cannon, each firing of a ball every two minutes. Brazier had shown no mercy in reducing the enemy vessel to matchwood till she began to sink, which sent a message to those crewing the Spanish capture: surrender or die.
He arrived back in Kingston with his lower deck full of prisoners, many with wounds, and the Santa Clara crewed by his own men. He then sent his fellow commanders to sea to intercept other ships Hassel would have kept hidden so their crews would have their rewards, staying in port himself until his new C-in-C arrived in a replacement frigate, at which point Brazier could return home. HMS Diomede, after three years in the Caribbean, was in much need of a proper dockyard.
Sitting here now and thinking on what Joe had said, or more vitally what he had not said, was a cause for some concern. If it was always true the lower deck knew much more than they should about what was going on, the notion they might have an inkling of what had really happened to Hassall was worrying.
He could ask his servant for a straight answer, but did he really want one? More to the point, there were still men out there who had been serving at the time, while the notion of anything being kept to one ship was nonsense. If William Pitt did seek out the truth, how many members of those ships’ crews would be only too willing to talk?
Even if they were not believed or could provide no proof, enough might be uncovered to expose the identity of the person who wrote that anonymous letter. He could speculate till the cows came home, but the possibilities were endless. There were clerks in Hassall’s HQ who could have overheard the argument: masters and pursers aboard the ships, all of whom had the ability to write and, more importantly, to get the letter onto the packet returning to England, without questions being asked.
The other point Pitt had made, regarding the Tulkingtons – really Henry – he had dismissed before he got out of the keep. He had no interest in smuggling whosoever was engaged in it, and he was certainly not going to use Betsey’s family to expose anyone they knew.
Harry Spafford was already drunk and it was before midday, but that was nothing unusual. His father found him in an upstairs room in the Hope and Anchor, the two whores with whom he had spent the night still slumbering in the bed, added to a bill downstairs which his father had to settle. Once in the room and facing his son, Daniel Spafford sought to chastise him but, as ever, it was water off a duck’s back.
‘If you have your purse, Pa, I need your kindness, for mine is empty and I owe these two charming ladies their fee.’
For a man who lived by a rough trade, he could not apply to his lad the beating he would have readily handed out to another who angered him. There was not much Spafford senior had affection for in this world, but before him now, even in his unkempt state, was the one chink in a very hard and determined exterior.
‘This has to end, Harry,’ he said, waving a weary arm to take in the room; no description was necessary.
‘It will, Pa, I promise.’ The eyes wetted in a way the youngster had perfected through long practice. ‘But just this once—’
‘You might be needed this night, or one close to come, and you have to be sober. There’s work to be done an’ it won’t be gentle.’
Harry pulled himself to what he thought was upright, which was close if you took out the swaying and the inability to keep straight his head. A fist was made and lifted, while he tried in a slurring voice to sound bellicose.
‘Ever ready, is Harry Spafford, and God help the cove who dares to cross him cause …’
The fist made useless circles while an attempted punch unbalanced him so he staggered into his father’s arms.
‘Get your coat, you’re going home.’
‘It would serve to take a bottle or two along, would it not, to ease getting through the day?’
For once the temper went. Harry was grabbed by his shirt collar and shaken violently, an act that brought forth weak pleading and genuine tears. It was telling that the son was almost immediately joined in these by his parent, who could not abide to see all his hopes for a future dashed, yet could find no way to alter that with which he was landed.
‘Come on,’ was the gruff response.
He produced a couple of shillings to throw on the bed, picked up Harry’s coat off the floor, put his arm round his son and directed him towards the door.