Not much watching was required to establish what they faced: two men guarding the Spaffords, assumed to be still living, both armed, who never came out of the farmhouse without a weapon, even to fetch water from the well at the back.
When Vincent Flaherty turned up the following morning, he had brought along an extra mount, having done as asked in the article of weapons, though he had no great opinion of their use when it came to the muskets.
‘Where in the name of Christ did you get them?’
‘Dover. I didn’t want to buy in Deal because it would be bound to spread.’
‘Well the fellow who sold them to you saw you coming a mile off and had a good laugh when you departed. Having got your powder and balls I had a try with them last evening by putting a bottle on a post and I can tell you, Edward, it’s still sitting there. Not one shot went straight, because the barrels are near to worn away, so I’d be looking for a barn door to hit if you’re seeking for a target.’
‘As it happens, I have a choice of two.’ Having confused the Irishman he asked, ‘Anything to tell me?’
‘Far as we know, Hawker is going about his business, though most of his men are moving in and out of the town.’
‘Most?’
‘Can’t keep an eye on them all, Edward, but Saoirse picked up a rumour there might be a cargo coming in.’
‘When?’
Vincent was a bit put out by the abrupt questioning but answered anyway. ‘Days, but you’re the sailor, so you’ll know it depends on weather and God knows what else besides.’
‘Which is holding fine.’
‘More than that I cannot say and neither could Saoirse. If she hears any more, well …’
‘I will thank her when I see her.’
‘Which I will happily do for you,’ sounded a touch waspish. Going to his saddlebags, Vincent fetched out a couple of bottles of red wine.
‘Not the best but will still need a day at least to settle. Wine was never meant to travel by horse.’
‘I’ll save it for your next visit.’
There was much to chat about, centred mainly on the fact there had been no apparent action over Edward’s trio of dead bodies, with the High Sheriff seemingly tearing his hair out.
‘But I must be away, Edward, I have a mare in foal and close to term.’
With Vincent gone, Brazier made his way to join Dutchy who was doing his four hours on, to stare at a building in which nothing was happening. The only way to get close was in darkness: moving in daylight when you had no idea who was behind those windows would never work.
‘We’ve got the muskets now, Dutchy, we’ll have a stab tonight, after we’ve been fed.’
He did not mention inaccuracy or worn barrels.
‘We have asked till we’re blue, Mr Cottin, and not just in our own bailiwick, but we can neither find out who is responsible for those deaths or where they took place. I fear it may be a mystery impossible to solve.’
Tobias Sowerby explained he’d used his own carters, busy delivering or collecting goods around the district, to probe for any rumour of violence since there had been gunshots and they could be heard for miles, with nothing to report. Cavell, who had accompanied him to the Three Kings, was nodding vigorously.
On the desk in his room the sheriff had a letter just delivered from Henry Tulkington. This told him close questioning of his servants had established none of them knew any reason why Upton had ended up at Quebec House, the only logical explanation being he’d been employed as a servant by Captain Brazier. This made no sense, given he already had one, and besides, what would a man in a town house and no stables want with a groom?
‘Have you had any word of Brazier yet?’ Cavell asked.
‘None.’
‘Then does this not suggest,’ the coroner proposed, with a glance at Sowerby, ‘if anyone is possibly to blame, it could be he? If not, why is he hiding away?’
‘I seem to recall, Mr Cavell, you thought he might have left Deal altogether.’
‘Another reason for suspicion, surely?’
‘I’m bound to ask − whether he has or has not − on what grounds?’
‘What if the three dead men were involved in the riot?’ Sowerby asked.
‘You’re suggesting revenge?’ came after a pause.
‘Obviously.’
‘Yet one thing we do know, for it was in your report, Mr Cavell. Captain Brazier was absent from Quebec House when it was set alight and it is my impression, again from what you sent me, most of the mob had disappeared by the time he reappeared and tried to help put out the blaze. How would he have known whom to pursue if he was not there to observe the crime taking place?’
‘Perhaps he has better sources of information than any of us.’
This got Sowerby a glare, which reflected Cottin’s conviction of his abilities, but he could bear such a look. The seed had been planted: if Brazier did show up it should be to a frosty welcome. If he did not, which all had agreed over dinner was most likely, the lack of his presence would get shot of Cottin, even if he failed to buy the proposition. There was no point in him hanging around if he could not examine the man who was the prime witness in the first matter and who might be the prime suspect in the second.
Unknown to his visitors, Cottin had already come to the conclusion he was wasting his time. He had no faith in the men just departed or their colleagues, was distrustful of Tulkington, sure Mrs Riorden knew more than she was saying and had no idea from whom he was receiving clues by cryptic note. Someone was seeking to point him in the right direction, but who?
He would have departed this very day if William Pitt had not intimated he was coming to Walmer. The facts of an as yet unsolved case in this hotbed of smuggling, to which it was surely connected, added to his seeming determination to solve it, could be used to raise him in the King’s First Minister’s opinion. Who knew what could flow from being seen by him as zealous in the search for truth? All it required was an interview.
The note to bring this about was already written and only required delivery. It being a not very long walk to the castle, he would, for the sake of discretion, deliver it himself. Within the hour he set off to do so, unaware he was being followed, as Edward Brazier had been before him. The ragged urchins of Deal were so ubiquitous they drew no attention.
Dirley Tulkington was too old to be coaching on such a journey. Even over one of the best maintained roads in the country, it was still bone-jarring, he the sole passenger in the two-seater conveyance, pistols loaded in the case beside him in fear of highwaymen, said to plague the country. He had been placed with a typically rude and utterly unsympathetic post boy on the reins, ‘boy’ being a misnomer: he was old, if not older than Dirley, a man who saw his first task, as the horses were being changed and mail was being transferred, to satisfy his thirst with ale and damn his passenger.
Nothing about what he’d read made any more sense when fretted upon than it had originally, which made it a mental as well as a physical strain. So, on arrival in Dover, he resolved to rest overnight, even if he thought time of the essence. He could not bring himself to face Henry without he felt fresh for what was going to be a very troubling interview.
If his nephew was going to behave in the fashion as reported by Elisabeth, and could not be brought back to reason, Dirley would have no choice but to break all contact, given his next task would be to drag him through the courts in order to get Elisabeth’s property back, which he saw as a higher duty to the much-loved daughter of Acton. How different matters had been in partnership with him, two fine minds applied to a problem of setting up an enterprise which could not be penetrated. He was aware his half-brother sometimes resolved problems in questionable ways, but he had been assured this only occurred when absolutely necessary.
Given his exhaustion it was remarkable sleep would not come as he rehearsed what he would say. But when he returned to recalling happier times, he finally went under.
Brazier and his crew were in the dark, spread out in the trees at the back of the Spafford farmhouse, weapons at the ready. Luckily the wind had got up to rustle the treetops and cover any noise of approach, coming from the south-west, reckoned by salts used to sniffing for it to presage rain. Hopefully, this would not be before the muskets were needed. The firing pans would have to be covered if their weapons were to be of use.
Again the first hint of grey in the east was the signal to think of moving, still dark on the ground but an indication of the time. Peddler and Cocky acted on his signal, to make their way to the coastal side of the farmhouse and take up station, backs to the wall. Joe and Dutchy crossed the patch of grass to the nearest barn to the well, which would be visited at some time, hopefully not long after it was fully light.
A good hour passed as the daylight came under cloudy skies, with Brazier, pistols out and cocked, leaning against a tree, trying to will some movement. A sound to his rear had him spin round and take aim, which induced terror in the old fellow with straggly hair hauling a cart. The handles were dropped with what had been holding them shooting into the air, which made his loose smock flap in the wind. At another time and another place Brazier might have burst out laughing, but this was not it. Coming closer he reassured him he could put his hands down, to which he only agreed when the pistol muzzles did likewise.
A glance into the cart showed straw-filled baskets containing eggs, loaves of bread still fresh enough to smell of yeast, blocks of cheese, fruit and half-filled pitchers of fresh milk. Gentle enquiry established he had a regular round and the farmhouse was one of his daily stops.
‘Every morn to deliver. Daisy’s allas seen me right, he bein’ a decent cove, but not recent. Won’t leave owt agin if they don’t pay.’
‘And after?’
‘Why, I goes on my way,’ this delivered as if he was talking to a bonehead.
Brazier reached into a waistcoat pocket to find some coin. ‘Give them what you normally deliver today and tell me what it costs.’
‘Eight pence would be the bill.’
‘Here’s a shilling. Drop your goods off and move on.’
‘I’m minded to ask what’s afoot here.’
‘Do you know what the occupants in this house do?’ The sly avoidance of eye contact was enough of an answer. ‘Then you don’t need to know what I do and nor what will crossing me bring on your head.’
The shilling was bitten before it disappeared into his poke, the cart handles taken up and he moved on, to do exactly as asked. The rest of his round was spent telling the folks he supplied to have a care with what they had stored, cos the Excise was about.
Marker, not that the name was known, came out the front door after a while, bucket in one hand, pistol in the other, to look long and hard in all directions, his eye then caught by the delivered food, which seemed to induce even more caution. Brazier heard a faint call, which brought out his companion as well as his musket, he too eyeing the food and milk. As Marker made for the well, his companion moved away from the door into clear space, opening up an angle by which he could cover him.
The move was slow and cautious, but there was no way to hold a pistol and work the rope lowering and raising the bucket, so it was stuffed in his belt, at which point Brazier stepped away from the tree. Hoping what he was firing was better than the duff muskets he’d bought, he put a ball over the man’s head, then jumped behind the tree again as the man with the musket swung it onto him to pull the trigger, the ball cracking past his ear to strike another trunk.
At the well, the pistol was out and the musket was in the process of being reloaded, when Dutchy and Joe appeared, weapons levelled and aimed at the pistol holder’s back. At the same time Cocky and Peddler shot out to cover the fellow in the middle of cramming a ball into his muzzle, a call to both telling them to drop their guns. There was a moment when one had a target in Brazier, who’d stepped out again, his second pistol raised so it looked an even contest. The shout from Dutchy and a glance over his shoulder was enough to see the muzzle dropped; to fire was madness.
Cocky took the musket and Joe stepped in to retrieve the pistol, Brazier coming forward to indicate they should head back inside, where a quick check was made to ensure no other weapons were available, which turned up another musket. The pair sat down and, well covered, were asked for their names, these sullenly provided.
‘But by Jesus, you will pay for this,’ Marker spat.
‘I note you don’t ask who I am.’
‘Don’t take much guessing, do it?’
‘Maybe you’ve seen me before.’ No reply. ‘In the grounds of Cottington Court?’
‘Happen I’ve seen your back.’
Dolphin Morgan was at a stand trying to work out what was going on. The sounds he was hearing made little sense, but the rattle of the lock had him jumping away, while gesturing to the others to get against the back wall. The door opened to reveal Dutchy Holland but, since he was not familiar, he was armed and he wasn’t smiling, no one moved. They even stayed still, just looking at each other as, door left open, he moved backwards.
‘I’ve seen that bugger before, and here too,’ hissed Eastry Sam. ‘He was with the navy cove.’
Dutchy grinned. ‘Don’t you lot know when you’se free for Christ’s sake? Capt’n wants you outside.’
As they shuffled out, a bedraggled-looking lot, a few sobs could be heard: these men, sure they were for the chop, were thanking God for their deliverance. They were also afire to know not only who’d set them free, but why, something Brazier was about to explain. Having left Marker and Tombs under guard, he came out to address them, shutting the door so he couldn’t be heard inside, the sight of Spafford’s lot underscoring his original thought: he had no use for them. There had been doubt in the eyes of Peddler and Cocky as he’d outlined this, they having seen the number they’d had to contest with before, but Dutchy understood Spafford’s lot couldn’t be relied on.
‘They be local and smugglers, an’ not one of ’em would stand up to Hawker if they came face to face. More likely ask to join him and ditch us,’ eyeing the men up and down as he spoke.
‘And,’ Brazier added, ‘if you’ve yet to work out who it is I’m after, then now you know.’
He had to put into practice what had been agreed and, having confirmed the death of Dan Spafford, he asked, ‘Is there anybody you call a leader?’
A couple elbowed Dolphin Morgan forward, which was not easy: he was both bulky and reluctant, but it mattered not if they acted as a group or on their own.
‘What do you reckon will happen if you run across John Hawker?’ The glum looks were a sure sign they didn’t expect to survive. ‘Well I can tell you, he’s in Deal, so if you go back there, it will be to have your throat cut.’
‘So what’s we to do?’ asked Eastry Sam, hastily adding, ‘your honour.’
‘I want you to stay here.’
‘He’ll be back,’ Dolphin insisted. ‘You don’t know the bugger.’
‘Maybe not as well as you, but know him I do and I intend to remove him from your life and mine.’ The looks exchanged were as good as a communal scoff. ‘Until that’s done, you stay here. After I’ve seen to him, you’re free to do as you wish.’
‘Not much, with Dan gone.’
‘An honest crust would be one way,’ Dutchy sneered.
‘Which tells me, mate,’ Dolphin retorted, ‘you ain’t had to make a living on Deal Beach.’
‘What do you know about the torching of Quebec House?’ came from Brazier. Here for once were people who might tell him how it happened.
‘It were Dan,’ Sam bleated. ‘He roused us out when we was set free from the slaughterhouse …’
‘Set free? Who set you free and why were you confined?’
A demand to tell got a jumbled story, with too many talking over each other, but facts did emerge. After being captured on the night of Elisabeth’s sham marriage they, ambushed in the grounds of Cottington by Hawker’s mob, had been taken to Deal and locked up in the slaughterhouse.
‘Dan was kept in t’ other shed,’ Sam confessed, ‘but when he joined us, he said we’s got a job to do. It would see us free an’ back to doing the French run regular, with Tulkington’s blessing too.’
Dolphin took over having called for quiet. ‘We joined a mob on Beach Street and Dan said to get to the front an’ grab some torches. Never thought it was to set light to owt, but it’s what befell.’
‘’T’were Daisy,’ Sam admitted, as the first of the expected rain began to fall, ‘who told us after, it was where you berthed.’
‘Did he tell you someone died?’
‘Sad to say, he did. Had to believe your place was empty. Winder were smashed in and Dan chucked a lit torch. We was told later, that was the deal with Hawker: get the place well alight or kiss goodbye to smugglin’ for all time.’
As he listened to a litany of admissions, one thought was uppermost in Brazier’s mind. Had Hawker acted alone, or had the whole thing been ordered by Tulkington? It was likely he would never know.
‘Well, you’ve gone from being captives to gaolers. I need Marker and Tombs kept here and you’re going to do the keeping. But first I have to question them, so go back inside and stay there for a bit, door shut.’ The look this got had him add, ‘But not locked.’
As they filed in, Dutchy whispered to Brazier, ‘They’ll likely leg it as soon as we’s out of sight.’
‘Not all, Dutchy, and none of them will go Deal way.’
‘Capt’n, they could just be daft enough.’