The Contraband Shore Page 9

  ‘I merely wonder at his intentions, Elisabeth.’

  Betsey responded to both that and the crabbed look on her aunt’s face with total dismissal. ‘Intentions? I think you’re running ahead of the hounds there, Henry.’

  ‘But you would not object to my finding out?’ Betsey shrugged. ‘Perhaps if you were to introduce me when he arrives.’

  ‘You won’t be too busy?’ was the sarcastic response.

  ‘For matters concerning the family, no.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A third pint of claret had been consumed, so fuzzy-morning head was treated by a substantial amount of coffee to accompany his breakfast. Shaved and in uniform, a hotel groom having been sent to fetch Bonnie, she was saddled and waiting when he returned from acquiring a pair of boots. He had clear and straightforward directions as to where to go: a ride away from the crowded town, through orchards in the main, the trees showing abundant apple and cherry blossom. There was also some pasture: cattle, sheep and goats, in small fields dotted with a few people tending to animals and the trees.

  Paths of bare earth or gravel led to isolated houses of, he assumed, the tenants or landowners of the local farms; either low old dwellings, with thatched roofs or, for the more prosperous, four-square red-brick, pointed with white lime. They sat under red roof tiles, with smoking chimneys, small canopied porticoes and low sash windows, some bricked up to avoid the window tax.

  Not far from such houses sat large barns, also constructed of brick, and by them the meaner dwellings of the farm workers, surrounded by chickens, dogs and in some cases grubby children. The carts carrying produce to market were, at this time of day, mostly going in the opposite direction and, seeing a King’s officer, he was given way to and treated to indications of respect.

  A gentle rise took him up to the upper part of Deal – the original settlement he had been told – which boasted its own imposing red-brick church with a white belfry, next to a substantial rectory. It was just one of a number of substantial houses, many looking recently built and boasting a variation of the design of those already passed, occupied no doubt by folk who found the bustle and commotion of the lower town distasteful. There was, however, an old thatched alehouse opposite the church, virtue and wickedness, as ever, living cheek by jowl.

  Beyond that lay a stretch of rising road hemmed in by open fields, grassed at the edges, over which he could put Bonnie to first a canter then to a short gallop. This she took to with relish and speed, moving fast enough to near remove his hat. Even if he was less than sure of his seat, he enjoyed the sensation, one he had not experienced in years – a motion which, if it was not as exhilarating as a fast-sailing frigate on a stiff breeze, was yet stimulating.

  Cottington Court, he had been told, lay in forested ground, with only its roof visible from the road. Gaps in the trees provided an occasional glimpse of wave-filled anchorage and, with the tide very low, the extensive sandbars of the Goodwins showed as a light-brown shade in the water – a potential burial ground for those who, even with charts, did not know the safe passages through to deep water. From the shore he had already seen the masts and part-hulls of ships wrecked over many years; slowly sinking into the soft and shifting sand they were a constant reminder of the risks.

  Advised to look out for a pair of stone greyhound figurines, there they sat, on either side of spiked metal gates set back from the road, the neatly curved wall encasing it in a deep arc. A pulled bell brought from the gatehouse a living, snarling dog on a thick rope, held by a fellow carrying a heavy cudgel, who enquired in a hissing way on his business, in a manner far from either servile or friendly. Brazier thought about producing the note of invitation, only to reason this toothless cove would be unlikely to be able to read.

  ‘Captain Edward Brazier to see Mrs Langridge. I have good reason to believe I am expected.’

  That brought forth a grudging nod, then a large key with which the gate was unlocked, to be swung open and allow his entry. With Bonnie’s hooves scrunching on the neat gravel, he caught sight of the house at the end of a long drive. In fact it was more a mansion, set back past a second set of more ornamental gates, framed by sturdy brick pillars topped with recumbent eagles. Closer to, he had sight of the formal gardens on either side of the central pathways, the beds being tended to by a couple of elderly men, bent double.

  Clearly the abode of a wealthy man, it was built in the style redolent of the reign of the second Charles, slightly more elaborate than the modern fashion for squared-off regularity, but still of the kind of red brick that favoured sunshine. It boasted three-storey twin bays projecting from the main body on either side of the double doorway, their tops decorated with stone fretwork. The windows were well proportioned in the whole, mullioned and small-paned. More telling was their sheer number; there was no worry about window taxes here.

  The gate being opened, he trotted through to be faced with a pair of spaniels running at him eagerly, lolling tongues evidence of the benign nature of family pets. A lad in a leather apron ran forward to take his reins, allowing him to dismount, which permitted the dogs to sniff at his boots. Bonnie was led away without a word being said and he knew, in this kind of establishment, she would be watered and put to a bag of hay without the need he request it.

  Betsey came out of the house, to stand at the top of a set of round stone steps. She was clad in a plain grey dress, which was a nod to her widowed state, but not one to contain either her beauty or his admiration. If the sourpuss Aunt Sarah was just visible to her rear, it did nothing to dent his pleasure. His hat came off and he executed a slight bow, aware his heart was beating a little faster.

  She had come to greet him personally and not left it to a servant to announce the arrival, a more common way for anyone to be received, certainly for the first time of calling. The fellow who would have normally undertaken the chore was to one side, in decent domestic livery of a frogged coat and black breeches, tasked now to merely hold open the door.

  ‘Mrs Langridge, it is kind of you to allow me to call.’

  ‘Captain Brazier, how could I refuse such a request and from someone I consider a friend?’ The face of Sarah Lovell registered her deep disapproval of those words and, in truth, it was a bold greeting, one to be taken as encouragement he was sure, dented when Betsey then pursed her lips to add, ‘I informed my brother of your intention to call and he is impatient to meet with you.’

  Those words repressed a desire to skip up the steps, Brazier taking them at a deliberate pace, to hold and kiss the back of her proffered hand, feeling an odd sensation run up his arm as his lips brushed the skin. Betsey then turned to lead the way indoors, her voice carrying a hint of mischief as she added, ‘My Aunt Sarah welcomes you also and is eager to renew the acquaintance.’

  If it was the case then it was not evident in her retreating back, which was singular in being so rigid as to make clear her feelings, while her actual words were replete with distaste, as was her desire to get away, she making no attempt to disguise what was an excuse.

  ‘Forgive me if I decline to join you, Elisabeth. I have pressing household matters to attend to that cannot wait.’

  Neither Brazier nor Aunt Sarah saw the stuck out tongue; he was being relieved of his hat and examining his surroundings, the object of the slight swiftly disappearing. The inside of the house was as impressive as the exterior, the hallway wide, its walls and a wide staircase lined with portraits and landscape paintings. Floored with polished, wide and gleaming boards, these carried the deep patina of their age, the space set off by a couple of modern settles of carved mahogany, upholstered in lively blue velvet. On a central round table of the same wood sat a huge punchbowl with elaborate handles, made of what he took to be solid silver.

  Betsey led him on and into a room that suggested a very masculine air: heavily curtained, ceiling to floor windows, deep leather chairs, a card table as well as a large desk; a fire in an inglenook grate, the basket full of glowing red logs. The high trees outside rend
ered the interior somewhat dingy after the sunny ambiance of the hall.

  ‘Captain Brazier,’ Betsey said, ‘my elder brother, Henry Tulkington.’

  The man standing before the fire responded with a keen look and one hard to read for disposition. Tall, slightly built with a hollow chest and a sallow countenance, he was wearing a freshly powdered wig, which stood out stark in the gloom. Brazier examined what he could see of the face, seeking a likeness and failing to observe one. Where Betsey radiated happy vivacity, her brother seemed to be cut from a more melancholy cloth. His shoulders were slightly stooped and, still under examination from his visitor, he put a hand to his chest to rub it, a look of slight concern crossing his face.

  ‘Close the door on the way out, please, Elisabeth. I think I need to speak with our visitor alone.’

  ‘Henry, it is stifling in here. I reckon it cooler in Jamaica.’

  ‘Would you have me catch a chill?’ The sigh of frustration from his sister could not be disguised, this while her brother looked at Brazier as if he would approve. ‘I suffer from a delicate constitution, Captain, which I fear my own sister does not fully appreciate.’

  In no position to take issue, Brazier merely acknowledged the statement, feeling the need to smile, though he had to agree with Betsey; the room was too warm for comfort. Her brother having asked her to depart, they were to be left to talk, which had apparently been a prior condition: that the head of the house should cast an eye over him. She smiled at him reassuringly and exited, closing the door behind her. There was no invitation to sit.

  ‘You met Elisabeth in the West Indies, I gather?’

  ‘I did.’

  Tulkington adopted an air of abstract curiosity and produced a large handkerchief into which he coughed, that followed by a vigorous blowing of the nose. ‘And you have chosen to call upon her, I am led to believe, almost immediately upon your return to England?’

  Not liking the tone of the question, Brazier answered with a curt statement. ‘I have been home for several weeks, sir.’

  The handkerchief being closely examined, eye contact was broken. ‘Come from?’

  ‘Deal, where I have lodged at the Three Kings.’ Brazier could see, by the slightly cast-up eyes, the answer was insufficient. ‘I travelled to there from Portsmouth.’

  ‘Where I presume you are domiciled?’

  ‘Naval officers are rarely domiciled, Mr Tulkington. We are, by the very nature of our service, nomadic creatures. I have rarely been in England over the last twenty years and, when I have, my family home in Hampshire has been where I have resided. Sadly my parents are no more, so that has new tenants. Naturally, if I was to anticipate a lengthy sojourn onshore, I would need to find my own house. As of yet that does not merit a decision.’

  ‘Quite a way off, Portsmouth. I am minded to enquire if your coming here is merely to renew an acquaintance?’

  ‘There is that, of course.’

  ‘But it is not all?’

  Was the tone of that enquiry inauspicious? It was hard to tell, but this brother had not engaged in any of the normal niceties – in fact there had been no polite preamble at all. He was asking, and within a minute of meeting, what were his intentions. Would it be wise to state them openly or to equivocate? That depended on factors of which he had no knowledge, like how much power did this brother hold over his sister. Best to go slowly.

  ‘I found your sister’s company congenial on those occasions on which we met. I have good grounds to believe she felt the same way.’

  ‘She was certainly all aflutter at the notion of your calling, sir.’

  ‘I sense by the way you relate the fact, such an attitude does not entirely meet with your approval.’

  ‘It may, it may not.’

  Betsey’s Aunt Sarah would be behind this. He could not believe it was a personal animosity towards him on first acquaintance. She had made plain her low opinion of anyone who showed the slightest interest in her niece, to leave them in no doubt their attentions were unwelcome. In every conversation he and Betsey had engaged in, the older woman had sought in various ways to break it up. It was almost as if Tulkington guessed the line of his thinking, while his visitor had no way of knowing he was engaged in a complete falsehood.

  ‘I knew of you before Elisabeth told me you were intending to call, indeed your name was mentioned as soon as they returned home. Our aunt was most concerned that of all the fellows who paid court to my sister, you were the most assiduous.’

  ‘Which would surely have been rebuffed, if it had been unwelcome.’

  ‘My sister is given to enthusiasms and, quite often, they are far from wise.’

  ‘Odd, I found her to be eminently sensible.’

  Delivered in an even way, flat almost, it produced the first troubled expression on a face that had remained studiously bland. ‘I do not take kindly to be told by a stranger to us both that my impressions, indeed my deep knowledge based on years of experience, are erroneous.’

  ‘I cannot question your familiarity with your sister, sir, though I would perhaps posit that her having been married and older than you may recall, as well as her having spent some time away from your gaze, she may now be very different.’

  ‘Her widowhood has left her a wealthy woman. Such an estate will attract those whose intentions are more to do with her money than her being.’

  ‘Despite her very marked beauty?’ That was waved away as if it was of no account. ‘I take it you suspect me of being cut from such cloth?’

  ‘I do not mean to impute your motives, sir—’

  Brazier cut right across him, sick of the game being played. ‘Really. I find that hard to countenance, given you have just as good as done so. Your aunt has no doubt told you of the number of fellows in Jamaica who sought to pay court to your sister and she would be right to term many of them fortune-hunters. If the source of your concern comes from there, sir, your aunt has no right to include me.’

  ‘You seem very sure, Captain.’

  ‘Mr Tulkington, I will no longer beat around this particular bush. I have come here to not only renew your sister’s acquaintance, but to find out if a suit put forward by myself would be welcome to her. Indications so far lead me to a conclusion they might well be, not least the alacrity with which she accepted my intention to call.’

  The handkerchief was produced once more, to again be coughed into, hiding what his visitor took to be a flash of anger. The material muffled his response. ‘I suspected as much.’

  ‘I would also point out something your aunt should have told you, for she could not have failed to be informed by those she met while acting as chaperone of my situation. I am a wealthy man in my own right, sir, and I have no need of your sister’s plantations.’

  ‘You think it is merely that, sir? Quite apart from her wish to possibly dispose of them.’

  ‘What else could it be?’

  ‘My health, sir, which, unless you are only partially sighted, you will observe is delicate. I am not a well man and may not be long for this earth. I am also unmarried as yet and without issue. Should I pass away, all my substantial holdings will be inherited by Elisabeth. Should she decide to wed for a second time, not only will her new husband have possession of what she already owns, but he can anticipate control of my fortune as well. It is therefore, to me, a legitimate concern that I would not wish that to pass to a frivolous fellow who might gamble it away.’

  ‘Then, sir,’ Brazier replied, seeking to sound emollient, ‘I see it as necessary to act to put your concerns at rest. First I must seek from your sister a firm indication of how she feels regarding my attentions. If her response is encouraging, I would indeed propose marriage, formally asking for your approval, even though I cannot see you have the right to object.’

  ‘I assume that right as her elder brother and protector.’

  ‘Betsey—’

  ‘Elisabeth,’ Tulkington barked, showing real passion for the first time. ‘I hate that childish tag, given to her, I m
ight add, by Langridge when they were naught but children, something to my mind they never ceased to be.’

  ‘I do not seek to dispute your feelings, sir, but your sister is past the age of majority and, as you have pointed out, a woman of substantial property. I know I would be happier to have your blessing should she give me her hand. The mere fact that I am here talking to you indicates to me that Elisabeth would like it too.’

  ‘And if a blessing is not forthcoming?’

  ‘Then we would be required to do without. As to your concerns regarding my being a fortune-hunter, I am perfectly willing to acquire from my prize agent an up-to-date account of my own substantial holdings in three per cent government consols, so as to put your mind at rest.’

  ‘I have to tell you, Captain Brazier, I am minded to do everything in my power to dissuade my sister to reject any offer of marriage made by you.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Your profession, sir, if being a sailor can be so termed?’ Brazier was confused and it must have shown, as Tulkington continued with a more-in-sorrow-than-anger tone. ‘I have known quite a few of your nautical breed in my time and, to a man, they have been whoremongers and, I would not be surprised to find, diseased by the pox because of it. Would a man of integrity hand his sweet sibling over to such a person?’

  The response was icy and the heat of the room, which was making Brazier prickly without the need to dispute, did nothing to mitigate it. ‘I think I am forced to tell you to have a care, sir, for if you continue in that vein, your sister will inherit all you possess in very short order.’

  ‘You threaten me?’

  Tulkington should not have allowed himself a twitch of the lips – not a smile, but one suppressed – for it was foolish: it told Brazier he was deliberately trying to provoke him. How could Betsey ever agree to wed a man who had called her brother out with the intention of killing him? He could easily envisage the rest of the scenario, which would end with a hasty apology on some dawn field. This man, with his weaknesses and slender frame, unless he was a superb shot or a devil with a sword, was not stupid enough to let a challenge go ahead against a fellow who made his way in the world by fighting his nation’s enemies. Yet perhaps whatever damage he sought would have been done.