Old Sins Long Shadows (27 page)

‘
So gold it is!’

‘
Indeed. I have it on good authority that if we buy now, while it is low, we will reap excellent rewards in the very near future.’  Daniel had not heard the accent before but he suspected it was American.

‘
It cannot possibly go wrong as gold will never lose its value. How do you know it will rise so quickly?’

‘
I have friends with plans to corner the market. They tell me it’s a good time to buy but we need to be quick.’

James shook
Davenport’s hand across the table, ignoring their raucous friends who had no interest in stocks and shares.

‘
Then it is settled. Gold it is and with such inside information I can invest heavily’

‘
Indeed! To the markets!’ Their tankards smashed into each other in salute and they settled back into their chairs, returning their attention back to their companions. James’ mind, foggy now with alcohol, began to wander and his attention was caught by a lone figure sitting at the bar. The last time he had seen the man he was in a derelict building where he had been rudely interrupted and ordered away by the upstart. The humiliation and anger he had felt flooded back and in a voice raised to be heard he turned to his fellow companions.

‘
Have any of you straddled a servant?’

Their laughter quietened.

‘No one we would confess to,’ came a nervous response.

‘Come, come, we know it goes on. I have a wench, a comely pretty thing, who is only too grateful for a master’s touch.’  Daniel froze. ‘She pines and whimpers for my company. I can only but oblige.’  The men started to laugh but Daniel scraped his stool back and stood, he needed to get away. ‘She sighs and begs for more and it’s good entertainment I must confess. Don’t you think, Daniel Kellow?’  James’s walnut cane had come down blocking Daniel’s exit from the ale house like a barrier, its shiny gold tip glinting in the firelight. ‘I think you may know her, Kellow,’ he goaded.

Daniel did not reply but focused his attention on the grains of the wood
. He dared not trust himself to speak or move, not because he was scared, but because there were too many witnesses to the action he would like to take. Oblivious to the anger mounting inside the man, James turned to his friends.

‘
You see, this man here would rather have had his hands up her skirt but instead, mine were.’

Daniel snatched the cane so quickly everyone around the table jumped
. Their breaths held in anticipation to what he would do next and they watched in silence as Daniel made a show of looking at the cane. He tapped it against his hand to examine its sturdiness as if checking it for strength as a potential weapon then suddenly lifted it high above their heads as if about to strike, but he did not. Instead he slowly lowered it down presenting the handle to the American.

‘
Carrying a cane means to abide by certain rules or risk loss of that privilege.’ said Daniel offering its handle to the American. Davenport cautiously reached out and took it and in doing so condoned Daniel’s action. With measured strides Daniel left and disappeared amongst the crowds in the street. James was livid and made to follow but Davenport stopped him.

‘Leave him, James, we have business to discuss. Don’t risk another confrontation. He did not rise to the bait. You may not be so lucky next time.’  Reluctantly he sat back down and after a few more drinks the encounter was all but forgotten.

Later, after relieving himself against a dimly lit wall behind the ale house, James found himself lurching along the narrow alleyway that ran along side it. Inside he could hear his friends laughing loudly and the sound beckoned him to return to their newly formed gambling table. He staggered on, noticing for the first time the silhouette of a man at the end of the alleyway, leaning causally against the wall of the Cat and Fiddle and barring his way to the street bathed in sunlight. The stranger stood and turned towards him to wait for his approach. The man’s feet were set squarely with his shoulders, bracing himself, filling the small space and blocking out the light. James staggered on, comfortable in his position in life that the man would stand aside once he reached him. He did not and it wasn’t until James came face to face with him did the man finally lift his chin to show his eyes that had until now been obscured by his cap. James, with sickening realisation, recognised Daniel just as he was slammed up against the wall by him. His feet barely reached the ground as he hung in mid air supported only by Daniels fists buried in his coat collar.

‘
If I ever,
ever
, hear you speak her name in public or talk about her in such a degrading way again I’ll kill you!’

James struggled to break free but failed
. Gasping for breath he replied in a hoarse choked whisper, ‘Take your hands off me, Kellow!’ Ignoring him Daniel slammed him up against the wall again.

‘
You try my patience, Brockenshaw. You ain’t fit to clean her shoes.’

‘My God, man. You’re jealous!  You bastard!  Take your hands off me!’  He struggled again. Again Daniel slammed him against the wall, his head banged against the stone making James wince. He wanted to hurt Kellow and he knew just how to do it.

‘
I’ve had her Kellow!  Again and again and again,’ he savoured the look of shock on Daniel’s face before adding with relish, ‘right up to the hilt!’

Daniel’s fist flew through the air making contact with his jaw and James slid to the floor like a wooden puppet with its strings severed
. Daniel stood back breathing heavily and watched as James rubbed his jaw,

‘
You’ll pay for this, you murdering oaf!’ he threatened but Daniel was unmoved.

‘
The advantage of having a reputation such as mine, Brockenshaw, is that it attracts scum. Right now I have two paid witnesses who will swear in court that at this moment I am at the Red Lion drinking with them!  Now hear me well!  If I hear you saying anything to harm her reputation, I’ll hunt you down and finish the job!’  Daniel turned and left, disappearing out into the street as he had done before, leaving James to nurse his bruised jaw and bleeding lip to the sound of his friend’s laughter on the other side of the wall.

‘I think their behaviour was atrocious!’  Mrs Friggens dropped the bread dough onto her floured board and started to knead it with vigour. ‘This house is meant to be in mourning yet Mr Brockenshaw and his friends have been drinking and laughing as if they are at one long party.’

‘
Indeed,’ Mr Tallock agreed, he inspected his reflection in the back of the silver spoon, found it not up to standard and resumed his polishing. ‘Thank the Lord his friends have now left. Perhaps we can get back to some normality.’

‘
Poor Lady Brockenshaw, that’s all I can say. She’s grieving for the loss of her husband and her son seems to be celebrating it!’

Miss Petherbridge paused in her writing
. She was making a list of provisions required for the house. Unusually she had chosen to be sociable and sit at the same table where Mr Tallock and Mrs Friggens worked, each at opposite sides of the table.

‘
Janey has been a great support to her since her husband died,’ said Mr Tallock picking up another spoon to start the process of cleaning again. ‘I’ve heard Lady Brockenshaw say she has become more of a companion than a lady’s maid.’

‘
I thought as much. I’ve hardly seen her, except at meal times.’ Knowing it would rile the housekeeper she added slyly, ‘She’ll be wanting to have the wage of a lady’s companion to go with it.’

‘
I don’t think that is appropriate, Mrs Friggens,’ replied Miss Petherbridge, tapping her pen in annoyance. The cook hid her smile as she turned to look for a baking tray.

‘
Never-the-less, I think Janey is better than just being a lady’s maid and I for one wish her well in all she does. We must all strive to better ourselves.’

‘
Well said, Mr Tallock,’ agreed Mrs Friggens, but Miss Petherbridge ignored them both.

‘
Do we need more brandy and whisky?’ she asked returning to her list.

The butler coughed in embarrassment,
‘Indeed we do,’ he said, ‘only the establishment we usually order our spirits from are reluctant to fulfil another order at present.’ Both women looked at him in surprise.

‘
Why?’ asked the cook.

‘
It seems they are unwilling to supply anymore until they have had their accounts settled.’

‘
Lord Brockenshaw usually deals with them,’ said Miss Petherbridge.

‘Well, it appears he has not and I have the unfortunate task of bringing the subject up.’ He meticulously started to sort the finished silver into separate piles, before adding, ‘It’s just a matter of choosing the right moment.’  There was a knock at the back door and the butler disappeared to see to it. Conversation halted until he returned and in his hand he held a telegram.

‘
What’s that?’ asked the cook, never having seen one before.

‘
It’s a telegram for Lord Brockenshaw,’ replied the butler, placing it neatly on a silver tray ready to take to the master. They all stood staring at it as if it was from another planet.

Finally the housekeeper spoke,
‘Telegrams are seldom good news, Mr Tallock. I suggest you leave the matter of the spirit account for another day.’

‘
I am inclined to agree with you, Miss Petherbridge. I think one lot of bad news in a day is enough for any man.’

Chapter 11

James sat looking at the telegram in his hand
. Three days ago his friends had left and time had dragged ever since. Once more he was becoming restless and everything about him was beginning to irritate him. His mother was melancholy and preferred the company of her maid to anyone else these days, not that he minded, he loved his mother but he found her outlook on life stifling. In the past he had been prepared to put up with her attitude, partly due to the fact that occasionally Janey would come into the room and provide a welcome diversion. After her rebuff he felt like a school boy told off by the headmistress for a misdemeanour and he no longer had the capacity to be patient with his mother. His friends’ company had also diverted him from his frustrations, but now they were gone he felt Janey’s presence in the house, and her rejection, all the more keener. To top it all, he had also been warned off by Kellow and the more James was told he could not have something the more he wanted it.

The telegram lay waiting
in his hand to be read and James was reluctant to know its contents. He had taken out a substantial mortgage and used it all to buy shares in gold. The shares had increased steadily. If he had sold them last week he would have made a substantial profit, but the more they had increased in value the more he had been tempted to hang on for just one more day. His first repayment would be due at the end of the month. He had nothing in the bank to pay it but he planned to sell the shares before the due date to pay it. It was a waiting game but the arrival of the telegram could only mean one thing - Davenport had urgent news for him. He drained his glass in one gulp and tore it open.

GOVERNMENT FLOODED MARKET. PRICE OF GOLD PLUMMETED. PANIC BY INVESTORS. RIOTS IN NEW YORK. ALL IS LOST.

The blood from James’s face drained away as the words began to dance before his eyes. He had lost everything. Later the papers reported that two American speculators had attempted to corner the New York gold market which had caused the shares to rise. On discovering this, the American government had flooded the market resulting in investors scrambling to sell before the shares plummeted further. Within minutes the gold market collapsed as angry crowds besieged the banks to withdraw their life savings. In a frenzy of desperation and panic, angry crowds attacked bankers and rioted. The government were forced to send in troops to quell the riots that broke out but it was too late for many speculators and investors who had taken out loans. Within hours many were wiped out financially and ruined. Black Friday and its consequences would have a knock on effect for other shares and investors and last well into the following year but for James its devastating consequences were instantaneous. He had in his possession worthless shares that he could not sell without making a substantial loss, his bank loan repayment was due within days which he could not make and would not be able to for the foreseeable future. Without a very large injection of money the bank would claim and sell Bosvenna Estate for payment. He had been Lord Brockenshaw for just a few months and he had lost everything.