Dirley Tulkington, being, since the death of his brother, a very infrequent visitor to Cottington Court, ran into an immediate problem on turning up in a hired hack the following morning: Tanner, who manned the gate, would not let him in. At least, given he was dealing with a gentleman of a decent age and some presence, he was polite, which had his dog, endemic when it came to snarling, sit quietly by his side.
‘I don’t take leave to doubt you have right of entry, your honour, but my instructions is clear. No one to pass without I’ve been told afore of their comin’ to the house.’
‘And when was this instituted? I was once part of the household and Acton imposed no such restriction.’
The name struck home. One of the ironies beyond comprehension to the likes of Elisabeth, all of Henry’s servants were long-serving and went back to their father’s day. This led her to conclude, given it could not be brought about by affection, it had to do with the difficulty of finding another suitable place, added to the fact he would probably never provide a recommendation.
‘You’re Mister Acton’s brother, sir?’ came with a deeply inquisitive look.
‘I most certainly am and you, my man, have seen me before, though I grant it is some years past. I seem to recall your name as Tanner.’
Which left the gatekeeper on the horns of a dilemma: he had his instructions as he said, but could they be extended to a visitor like this one? From such a mercurial employer he was just as likely to get a rocket for obedience as employing discretion and, since there was a vague recollection of seeing this gent before, he unlocked the gate and waved the hack through.
Years rolled away as the conveyance made its way up the long drive, of a place he knew well, though many of the trees in the park were beginning to look mature now, not the saplings he recalled from the day the family moved in. It had been a run-down estate the first time he’d clapped eyes on Cottington and, in his time here, a place of constant works in both the house and grounds as Corley spent lavishly on improvements, sums of money, which came from his years of running contraband. He could remember the parterre as freshly dug and laid out in its formal way, designed to be, as his father had said, a miniature Versailles, albeit without the fountains. Likewise, the ornamental gates; he’d watched those being installed. At least they were opened without any discussion, the crush of the gravel on the drive having him steel himself for a meeting with Henry.
Grady was in the portico and, if he was wondering who was calling at such an early hour, likewise how they’d got past Tanner and his mutt, nothing showed in his stoical demeanour. Elisabeth, finishing her breakfast prior to going out on her morning walk, looked out with some hope to see who’d arrived, blessed with nothing more than the top of a black-hatted head and a heavy-shouldered body, which quickly disappeared, so assumed it was someone come to do business.
‘Mr Dirley,’ Grady exclaimed, when the black hat was raised to reveal thick grey hair.
‘The very same, Grady, and I hope I find you hale.’
‘Kind of you to enquire, sir.’
‘My nephew?’
‘Is preparing himself for the day.’
This got a frown from a person born and brought up in an age when men did not undertake what the French called a toilette. Fine as applied to ladies, it seemed somewhat questionable when applied to his own sex. As the exchange was taking place, Henry was descending the stairs, on his way to the dining room to take breakfast. There before him was the open front door.
‘Grady?’
The servant appeared in the doorway. ‘You have a visitor, sir.’
‘Damned if I have at this hour.’
Asperity died as Dirley came through the doorway, his face sternly set.
‘Uncle Dirley,’ came from shock, the next words came from rising anger, mixed with anxiety. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
‘I’m responding, nephew, to the letters you sent me, which I must tell you entirely lacked respect and, in the first instance, even a modicum of truth. But more importantly I’ve come to find out if what Elisabeth has informed me of is true.’
‘Elisabeth, informed you. How?’
‘Her letter made some very alarming accusations, which I can scarcely credit.’
Henry’s response was somewhat panicked. ‘You may discredit them from being the truth.’
The sound of loud voices brought Elisabeth out of her room, the sight which greeted her as she came down a few stairs making her heart swell. Here was salvation, looking up at her in a kindly, avuncular way and smiling. His broad, somewhat sallow jowly face, not much altered since she’d last seen him, if perhaps the heavy bags below his eyes looked darker and more bulging than she recalled.
‘My dear. It gives me great joy to see you looking as comely as ever. Your letter had me deeply concerned.’
‘It’s none of your concern,’ Henry snapped, glaring at Grady, stood erect and silent at the front door, his eyes, as usual, making contact with no one. ‘And can we stop having this family quarrel in the hallway?’
‘Is it a quarrel, nephew?’
‘It will most certainly become one if you choose to interfere in matters that are none of your business. I am about to have my breakfast and refuse to be troubled on an empty stomach.’
‘Then I shall join you,’ Dirley said, looking at his niece before saying, ‘Grady, my coat, if you don’t mind.’
Tempted to go to the dining room as well, Elisabeth thought it might be best to leave her uncle alone to speak with her brother. All of Henry’s machinations were falling apart and there was bound to be a time when she could refute any assertions he made.
‘I go for a long daily walk in the morning, Uncle Dirley, and shall do so now. I hope by the time I return, certain matters will have been resolved.’
‘It is my wish also. But I would like to speak to you alone.’
‘For which I can barely wait.’
‘Am I mistaken or is this my property or the abode of someone else?’
‘It was my home once, Henry. Surely you would not deny me repast when I’ve come all the way from London especially to see you?’
‘You may go to the dining room, if you wish, but I shall not. Grady, make me up a tray and bring it to my study.’ Henry turned on his heel and departed, with Dirley calling after him, ‘Later, then.’
Unbeknown to all, Sarah Lovell had been witness to this, having, on the sound of those raised voices, slightly opened the dining-room door. Henry’s departure saw it opened fully, she emerging to glare at the new arrival.
‘You’ll forgive me if I vacate as well, sir. I have care with whom I share any room.’
‘The only thing I have known you share, Madame,’ was delivered in a splendidly suave, metropolitan manner, ‘is toxic venom.’
With an imperious snap of the head, Sarah Lovell passed Dirley to make for the drawing room, the door shut with some force.
‘Elisabeth, it seems I’m so unwelcome, I have no choice but to walk with you.’
‘Then I would be obliged, Grady, if you would return my uncle’s coat.’
When they departed, they left behind two people whose mood could not be said to be sanguine. Henry was punching his left hand with his right and contemplating one murder if not two. His aunt was running through her mind the implications of a second letter she’d managed to spirit off the hall table without anyone knowing, one which hinted at an unnatural relationship in the first instance and pointed towards criminality in the second.
Dirley had helped himself to a cane from the stand in the hall and the way this was employed as he walked seemed to indicate his mood: the more disturbed he was, the more violently it struck the ground. He said little, unbeknown to Elisabeth mentally steeling himself to behave in a professional manner, a barrister hearing a deposition from a client, without emotion, sure he was doing so and unaware of what the stick was giving away.
The background to her relationship with Edward Brazier was taken with nodding equanimity, Henry’s reaction to it less so, but it passed without comment, though he did swipe a bush when he was told in great detail of how the marriage had been conducted, albeit maintaining the apparent composure of his features.
He was only once really troubled enough to cry out, information causing him palpable alarm, this when Elisabeth outlined how she had been brought to challenge Henry in the first place on the family’s involvement in smuggling, from which everything else had followed. In recalling the day and the circumstances in which Edward Brazier had relayed to her these truths, she also had to recall the way she’d behaved, refusing to believe a word of it.
He’d come once more to a clandestine assignation, accessing Cottington Court through their secret gate, to meet a woman full of anticipation, though far from absolutely sure the feelings she harboured were mired in certainty. Surely this would be the day to disperse her doubts. Then, instead of a heart-warming declaration of deep affection came his bombshell and her dismissive reaction. Edward’s pained expression, as she told him his marital intentions were no longer welcome, brought a blush to her cheeks.
Dirley didn’t notice, too thrown by the notion of the family’s affairs being gossiped about in Lower Deal, and seemingly with some knowledge of the details, which led to an immediate enquiry about the man who’d brought this to her attention and his sources.
‘I have no idea from whom Edward got his information. And to think I damned it as untruthful at first, especially when he sought to implicate my father. I now know it all to be fact.’
‘All?’ saw the cane aimed at a bush.
‘Henry told me everything, your part included.’
This had Dirley stop, head down to look at the ground, the voice concerned. ‘His reason? I assume he gave you one.’
‘He seeks to imply I’m complicit or, to be more truthful, will be seen to be and will thus suffer whatever is visited upon the family as retribution. He claims the marriage to Spafford was to protect me, which, if he truly believes it, will demonstrate how far he has drifted from any sense of reality. I suggest he is mentally unstable and requires treatment.’
Dirley obviously had no desire to go there, so changed his angle of questioning. ‘You say he’s not here, this Spafford creature, so where is he?’
‘Only Henry knows, but he’s using the cur as a threat to me. Abide by his wishes and he will be kept away. Challenge them and I will be left at his mercy, of which, I must tell, I doubt he’s over endowed.’
‘Did Henry tell you he has complete control of your assets?’ Following a description of what this entailed, there was a slight hint of embarrassment as Dirley added, ‘I’m afraid I had the papers drawn up.’
‘He made it plain that if I wanted anything, only he could provide it.’
‘That must, of course, be reversed.’
‘Like the marriage, Uncle Dirley, and then I can unite with Edward.’
‘I must tell you, Captain Brazier was brought to my attention by Henry. He asked me to look into certain rumours about his actions on the Jamaica Station.’
‘The death of Admiral Hassall, no doubt?’
‘Then you know?’ came with genuine surprise.
‘I know it is nonsense.’
‘What if I were to tell you it may not be entirely so?’
‘Then I would refuse to believe you.’
‘In such a case, are you not acting just like your brother?’
‘As I told Henry, if there’d been any truth in the rumour, I would have heard it. You know I was there, and you’d find not a word in the letters I wrote you regarding Edward Brazier, which would hardly be the case if there was any truth in the story. Who could resist speculating on such a juicy tale?’
‘Then I must tell you the government are being prodded by Lady Hassall, as well as some old shipmates of her husband, admirals all, to send a commissioner out to investigate.’
‘None of which is germane to my present difficulties.’
‘I know.’
‘Surely now you’re aware of what has happened, it can be reversed?’
It alarmed Elisabeth the way he seemed to hedge, she being unaware of a lawyer’s aversion to certainty. ‘Let me talk with Henry …’
‘From what I saw before we left, he has no desire to do so.’
‘He will have to, unless he wants to have me forcibly removed from Cottington. Be thankful such a right does not fall to your Aunt Sarah or I’d be gone by now.’
Henry was cogitating on this very act and trying to see the complications outside those he’d already considered. In the end, all he had was the threat to take away his part of the enterprise and the substantial sums Dirley earned and control them himself. Not that he would be rendered poor: his chambers were highly profitable and he was one of the founding partners.
Then he recalled the legacy, which said they were ultimately the property of the Tulkington family. Could they too be wrested from him? The only way to find out was to examine the documents − but who had them in his possession, none other than his uncle! Which left getting the old sod to see sense, to make him see the risk of having the likes of Brazier connected to Cottington Court in any way was one which could not be accepted.
So no to seeking an annulment, which would be what his sister would be after. Yet what if it became known Harry Spafford was dead? It could not be kept a secret forever. If the marriage stood as legitimate, who was the heir? None other than Elisabeth, who could not be trusted now, even less if she had her plantations back and her own funds. In the final analysis, Henry reasoned, it might be necessary to create the circumstances where the aforementioned legacy on Dirley’s chambers had to be brought into force.
The bottle containing Rudd’s concoction was sat on his desk and, when all things were boiled down to essentials, Henry decided he had to stick with his original intentions. If Dirley would not go along with him then extreme measures, of the kind his father had employed, would have to come into play: there was no choice when the family affairs stood at risk.
For once in his life Henry did not delude himself he was up to what might be required if persuasion failed. He needed John Hawker here and posing as a potent threat. Dirley must know he would pay the same price as had been paid by others and, since he knew of them, no explanation would be required. He rang the bell, which would see his breakfast tray taken away, ordering his coach to be made ready at once. There was no avoiding what was going to be a difficult interview, but if he was not here, it could not happen. When it did, he wanted Hawker close by.
Who could she ask? There was no one. If the letters she was receiving genuinely came from the diaries of such a creepy character, then the implication was plain, as were, etched in her memory, the days before her husband rode off and failed to return. There had been some prior meetings with Acton, which could not have been pleasant, regardless of how much both he and Samuel sought to keep up the appearance of cordial relations. Not that she’d been aware of any other truth, which made it galling Samuel − if as reported − had confided in his ‘friend’.
‘Dear Sam, indeed! How dare the upstart use a diminutive?’
She’d never much cared for Venables. He was, to her, very much mutton dressed as lamb at best, for all Acton treated him with what she saw as inappropriate indulgence. To Sarah Lovell, such behaviour just exposed the parvenu status of the family her sister had married into, a tribe she knew to be not long off the beach, having manners, which, to her mind and her standards, no amount of money could burnish.
Venables had been even lower in her estimation, a simpering nobody whose only skill lay with the curation of the ailments afflicting horses or dogs, as if that amounted to anything. Who cared about such creatures anyway? If they fell ill it was easy to buy another one, a thought to hit her hard on consideration. It was a long time since she’d had money of her own to replace anything.
It was no surprise her mind turned to the other hint, one she was partially ready to embrace. Samuel had not deserted her for another woman, as she’d supposed at the time and agonised over for near ten years. He had been the victim of a foul deed, while she was resident in the very house of those who had carried it out. Henry had apparently told Venables it would be best to mind his own business. What ‘business’ was he referring to?
The notion of challenging her nephew barely got a moment’s consideration. He disliked being asked about matters mundane, things to do with the running of the house, so he was unlikely to enlighten her about something as serious as what was being implied. But Dirley Tulkington had been around some of the time and heavily engaged with his half-brother. This was something of which she’d mightily disapproved at the time. In her world, it was risking social disgrace to be known to possess an illegitimate relative; to have him under your roof was an abomination, a fact she hoped she’d made plain to Dirley on the few occasions he had visited after Acton passed away.
She had cut him dead at Elisabeth’s wedding and, when enquired of as to his name and situation, had fobbed people off with a display of ignorance. Could she ask him now what he knew? Certainly there was a lack of cordiality in their relationship, just demonstrated in her abandoning the dining room, but could he be charmed into seeing her as less of an enemy − even, in time, a friend?
More importantly, could she put aside her aversion to his status and engage with him? Who would know outside these four walls? No one and, if she could extract from him anything about the disappearance of her husband, it would allow her to challenge Henry with some hope of disclosure. Once she had what she sought, there was no need to keep up any pretence of holding him in any regard. A smile crossed her lips as she recalled what she’d overheard. Somehow Elisabeth had got a letter out of Cottington, only the Good Lord knew how and no doubt she would get the blame.
Was that the key to breaking the ice, for if he’d come at Elisabeth’s request, he must know of recent happenings, while she was in a position to back up anything her niece said, albeit such would have to be imparted without Henry knowing. It took no genius to see Elisabeth would be asking for help to get an annulment. She could pretend to be an ally, could tell what happened on the night of the sham betrothal and say, truthfully, how upset she’d been, could infer she was willing to act as a witness to help prove Elisabeth’s case.
There was no need, should it come to an action to dissolve the marriage, to stand by what had been imparted in private. In short, she could not take an oath to bear witness in public against Henry, could not contemplate being slung out of Cottington Court and on to the cold, unforgiving street. Sarah Lovell resolved to go up to her room and get out a better dress than the one she was wearing, while a bit of powder and rouge would also not go amiss. Knowing she was not, in any strict sense, a beauty, she had other attributes to make an impression. She was possessed of exquisite manners and had a certain amount of breeding, enough surely to work her wiles on a parvenu bachelor in his sixth decade.