The message from Betsey was a request to meet her tomorrow, just as he had done previously, nothing more. Did that imply forgiveness or the very opposite? There was no way to tell, so it was a morose Edward Brazier who spent the rest of the day back in the state of flux in which he had arrived in Deal. He occupied himself by writing to his prize agent, instructing him to set up a regular payment to Dutchy’s dependants via the Quay Inn. Logan and Palmer had claimed to have no one who needed support and were happy to take his money and spend it in the nearest taverns.
After a restless night, Brazier set off alone for Cottington, requiring his boat cloak for, if it was not raining with the lowering skies, it threatened to do so. A gale of wind was blowing in from the north-east to whip up the sea, and the garment kept out the worst of the chill. He risked solitude in case the result was bad; he had no desire, in the face of his barge crewmen, to suffer a repeat of the day before.
At the house Betsey was suffering from impatience. She had taken breakfast in her room to avoid Henry. Now she could not go out as his carriage was in the drive, horses hitched and only waiting for the passenger, who was taking his own sweet time to emerge. There was a rear entrance leading to a lawn, but to reach it required she transverse the hall and that too might cause her to bump into her brother.
Finally Henry emerged, with Betsey stepping backwards in case he looked up to her window. She listened for the sound of the wheels on the gravel, which signified departure. Only when she could see he was halfway down the drive did she don a thick-hooded cloak and make her way downstairs.
‘You’re recovered?’ asked her Aunt Sarah, as she appeared on the half-landing.
‘A mild upset, Aunt, which I think will benefit from some air.’
‘Which I reckon foolish. You should remain indoors, especially with this wind. I hope you do not contemplate the woods, for it’s strong enough to fetch down a tree.’
‘It would be a devilish lack of fortune that I should be there when that happened,’ Betsey snapped, glancing at the hall clock to note she was constrained for time; she wanted to be in place when Edward arrived, if indeed he did so, for there was always a risk that her behaviour yesterday had given him grounds to decline.
‘If God wills it so, it will be so,’ was Sarah Lovell’s mordant opinion.
Outside, she had to give some credence to the possibility; the treetops were now in leaf, if not fully so, and thus the wind was bending the branches, while even the trunks were swaying to nature’s power. The dogs, unconcerned, raced to the side door to get ahead of her, one ear blown over their heads and their coats flattened.
Betsey chose to remind herself that the woods were well managed, with an annual pollarding of branches as well as the cutting down of any tree that looked to be failing, the results burnt in the grates of the house. It was a worrying walk to get to where she needed to be, with the possibility of him not being present, this put to rest as the bushes parted and there he stood; he had come early.
‘I have to ask that you forgive me, Edward.’
‘You spoke with Henry?’
‘To not much purpose, but there was another way and that vouchsafed to me was enough to bring on disquiet, which is why I asked you to come.’
‘I had hoped it was more than that.’
‘Be assured it will be. But I want you to find me accommodation in Deal this very day: either a set of rooms or, if it can be arranged, a house. I cannot say for certain what you implied yesterday is true in all respects, but I can say I will not stay in this house an hour longer than I have to.’
Brazier lifted off his hat. ‘A kiss and I’ll find you a palace. At a pinch, I will move out of Quebec House and gift it to you.’
‘Quebec House I will leave to you but the kiss, Edward, I will willingly grant you.’
It was a proper one: a passionate and lingering meeting of lips and tongues of the kind Betsey had not experienced since Stephen Langridge fell ill. Then, arm in arm, they walked under the swaying branches and hissing trees, laying plans as to how he would get her away from Cottington Court without the knowledge of her brother. He would be bound to try to dissuade her and might even attempt to prevent it.
‘I will come tonight before dusk, with my men. It will have to be a horse, which means you can carry very little.’
‘Fetch the pony I had from Flaherty.’ She clutched his arm tight. ‘And I shall not concern myself for possessions, for I look forward to possessing all that I need for happiness.’
It seemed an inauspicious day to meet at the chosen location, which was treeless and thus provided no shelter at all from the gale of wind. The seascape, easily visible from this elevation, was a dark grey mixed with a mass of white crests, as the North Sea drove into the anchorage to batter and reshape the shingle.
This was weather the kind of which could have the merchant ships in the roadstead dragging their anchors, so the boatmen of Deal would be wondering if that other source of income was about to be gifted to them: the cargoes of vessels driven ashore or out onto the Goodwin Sands, on which they would be stuck fast and begin to break up, this before being sucked down into perdition.
Henry Tulkington could see the meeting coach swaying to and fro, beside it – and using what little lee it provided – John Hawker and Jaleel Potter, hanging onto their hats and communing over the final arrangements. At a wave Tulkington stepped out of his coach, to be immediately buffeted so hard he staggered. He was thus in a far-from-benign mood by the time he made his destination.
Spafford was already seated and waiting, his face set in a look he probably hoped would convince Tulkington of his intention to drive a hard bargain. If he had not been so discomfited by the weather, his opponent would have been amused; the man had no cards to play.
‘Have you fetched along my boy?’
‘I reckon him safer where he is, but I’m curious, Spafford. What will you pay to get him back?’
‘There’s no need for me to pay. Not even you are crazy enough to let him be harmed. Where he is and what might happen to him is the talk of the town and if’n you think to get Hawker doin’ the dirty, ask yourself this: will he swing for you. ’Cause that’ll be the price.’
‘You were a fool to rob me, Spafford.’
‘It was a joy, you not knowin’ it were me.’
Tulkington produced a thin and humourless smile. ‘I knew all along. It was John Hawker who was left to wonder.’
It was with narrowed eyes that Spafford responded. ‘You didn’t tell him what passed a’ tween us?’
‘Recall you asked me not to.’
‘While never having any belief you’d abide by your word.’
Now Tulkington was amused. ‘You must cease to judge everyone by your own low standards. Now, about your Harry. What you filched was never going to get you to a sum of a size to maintain him.’
‘It were designed to bring you to this.’
‘It strikes me Harry would require a small fortune given his propensity to spend.’ Spafford sat stony-faced. ‘You do not acknowledge what is plainly true.’
‘I’m wondering where this is leading.’
‘Does your offer of an alliance still hold?’
‘It might.’
‘Well, let me tell you it will never happen. What you represent to me, Spafford, is irritation, not the rivalry you imagine. You are allowed to trade for the simple reason that ridding myself of you is a game not worth the indulgence.’
‘You make it sound easy, but—’
A peremptory held-up hand added to a fierce look stopped Spafford. ‘You made one correct guess. That I would go out of my way not to enter into a conflict in order to rid myself of you. So I am going to make you an offer, or should I say, accept your previous offer. If I cannot get rid of you, I must seek to control you.’
‘You ain’t enquired about the state of my well-being?’
‘Only because it’s a matter of utter indifference to me. If you die, you die. You will from now on work to my instructions and they may well be imparted to you by John Hawker. What I can guarantee, and you must pass this on to your men, is that all will prosper.’
‘My boy?’
‘What an unfortunate ball and chain he is to you. In order that I know you have accepted my terms, come to Cottington Court by six of the clock and come alone. Harry will be there. If you do not come, I will take it as a refusal and so will not swear to his having a future.’
‘Take orders from John Hawker?’
‘From what you tell me about the Grim Reaper, it will not be for long.’
Making to leave, Tulkington was stopped by Spafford’s voice. ‘You seem damn sure of yourself.’
‘The benefit of being in a strong position, while dealing with one who is so weak he has nothing with which to trade.’
The coach had been swaying throughout; as the door was opened the wind gusted in, tipping it so much there was a moment when it might tip over, which visibly alarmed Henry Tulkington and caused Dan Spafford to laugh. Once more buffeted on his way to his own coach, he indicated to Hawker to join him within, and there instructions were issued that surprised his man. He and his gang were required to be at Cottington, by late afternoon, breaking the stricture of never going near the place. He was told to fetch along Harry Spafford, as well as the reason why. Alliance, or as his employer termed it, absorption, did not sit well.
‘Everyone I command is chosen by me, Mr Tulkington. I don’t fancy Spafford’s lads to be a match.’
‘I shouldn’t worry, John. Some will not come near you, which is to your credit. If there are good people it will soon be obvious.’
‘And those who’re not?’
‘I doubt such people are the type to be missed and I always work on the assumption that time is on my side. I recommend you adopt the same approach. Oh, and spruce young Spafford up, fit to be a Cottington guest.’
‘I ain’t goin’ alone Daisy, I don’t trust that sod not to slice my gizzard.’
‘You don’t reckon his offer real, then?’ Spafford shrugged. ‘Then why go at all?’
‘The offer’s to be found out, but I must get my Harry free. If Tulkington means ill, happen we’ll both perish, but I can’t not try.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Keep hush about what I told you. The way Tulkington’s talking I can go through the front door, but you need to get a couple of lads to hoick someone over the wall so they can unbar a gate. This time of year, you will see through a winder what’s happenin’ and if it looks bad, then you do what you can to get me and Harry free.’
Daisy Trotter wanted to say what was proposed looked like a good chance to meet his maker. ‘Course, Dan; whatever you want.’
The invitation from Henry to join him in his study was unwelcome, yet Betsey reckoned not to comply would only raise more suspicion, while she had to admit she might be seeing threats where none existed. Was he about to quiz her, and if so, how to react? She decided it had to be faced as well as dealt with and, given the hall clock said it was past five, to get away she would use as an excuse the need to get changed for dinner, which would curtail her presence to not much more than an hour. After that, she would find a way to slip out the house to go and meet Edward.
He had already set out, not wishing to be late for such an important rendezvous and, given the nature of what he might face, this time it included Joe Lascelles, previously left behind, but now, with the whole party having made their way to Vincent Flaherty’s paddock, mounted on a small pony and leading a saddled Canasta.
Brazier had bespoken the same rooms at the Three Kings as he had occupied previously, which he would either use himself or offer to Betsey if she declined Quebec House. This he hoped she would accept, for the notion of her staying anywhere else raised the difficulty of ensuring she remained safe. If Garlick was delighted, he was also curious enough to render his client brusque, only mollified when it was made plain Brazier would be dining with a guest and that he wanted to rent for the purpose the private room in which he had met William Pitt.
Unbeknown to his party they were half a mile behind John Hawker, who had loaded his men into two covered vans, along with a terrified Harry Spafford, he sure he was in for a terminal ducking in the briny, a notion which no one seemed inclined to disabuse him of. From the other side of Cottington his father was leading his men towards the walls of the Tulkington estate, before separating to obey Tulkington’s instruction to come to the house on his own.
‘Elisabeth, do come and join us.’
Henry was, as usual, sat close to the fire and that occasioned no surprise. What was unusual was the presence of the Reverend Joshua Moyle sat opposite him, a large bowl-like glass in his hand, his rubicund countenance made more so by the heat. If Moyle was no stranger to the house – he was invited occasionally to dine, with, it had to be said, the customary drunken consequences – this was not a room into which any guest would normally be invited. And it had to be remarked that Henry too was drinking out of a tall narrow crystal glass, seemingly from the bottle of champagne in the bucket on his desk.
‘I have just been regaling our personal priest on the things you questioned me on yesterday.’
‘And far-fetched I found them, my dear Elisabeth,’ was the response.
Betsey felt the need to smile, even if she was not happy to be anything dear to this man. ‘A conclusion I have arrived at on my own, and one for which I am sure my brother has told you I have already apologised.’
‘You most certainly have. Will you join me in a glass of champagne?’
‘Perhaps just before dinner, Henry.’
‘Oh come along, Elisabeth, otherwise I might think you still harbour doubts. I know as a tipple you are fond of it.’
‘One glass, then.’
‘Splendid.’ He rose and produced a second glass from behind the bucket, to carefully tip it sideways and slowly pour, from where she was standing the light from the fire illuminating the rising bubbles. ‘Do sit down.’
‘Are you drinking champagne, Dr Moyle?’
‘Not my preference, Elisabeth,’ he replied, holding up his glass, as Betsey lowered herself into a wing chair. ‘Henry was good enough to have a glass of brandy fetched in. More my thing, brandy, and this is a very fine example indeed.’
He wasn’t quite drunk but neither was he completely sober, if such a condition ever existed in his life. Yet she welcomed his presence, for it would be unlikely the subject of her queries, with him present, would be gone into in any depth. Taking the glass from Henry, she was obliged to raise it as he did, in a toast.
‘To honest endeavour.’
Moyle cried, ‘Hear him,’ while Betsey just smiled, prior to taking a sip.
The servant Grady knocked, to enter and inform Henry that the visitor he was expecting had arrived, which had him rise, apologise and slip out, leaving Betsey with Moyle, who smiled at her with slack, wet lips.
‘Your brother tells me you are contemplating another marriage.’
She was surprised, and to cover it a second sip from the glass was taken.
‘Did he grant you an opinion on the notion?’
‘He did. Thinks it a good idea, which I had to point out might also apply to himself.’
‘A good idea?’
‘You seem surprised, Elisabeth.’
‘I cannot lie—’
‘Which my calling must caution you against,’ Moyle interrupted, his eyes cast skywards as though he was checking with the Almighty.
‘—if I were not to say that hitherto, he has had reservations.’
‘A noble thing to do, show brotherly concern.’
To cover the fact that it was the opposite of the truth, Betsey drained her glass.
‘I’m sure Henry would want you to have a refill.’
‘No, one glass is enough for now.’
Moyle waved his bowl. ‘Then I hope you will oblige me by calling for more brandy.’
She would love to have refused, for if good manners demanded she comply, this cleric before her was not one to deserve such consideration. That said, she rose and went to the side of the fireplace to ring for a servant.
‘Very kind,’ Moyle acknowledged.
Having called for someone to attend, Betsey was obliged to await the arrival and to ask that Moyle be given that which he no doubt sought: a full bottle. It also required her to be there when it arrived.
‘I wonder how long Henry will be.’
Grey, thick eyebrows rose in a gesture of ignorance, but the Reverend Doctor was smiling at her in a way that, had his wife been present, would probably have earned him a reprimand, it being openly salacious. His words would certainly have done so.
‘Such a pretty flower you are, Elisabeth, I envy the fellow you have chosen to favour with your affections. Would that I was the one to pluck your petals.’