Chapter 11 #2
Cecilia broke the silence. “Let’s get Mr. Abney back to his home and talk to Gideon about getting someone there to watch over him.”
They got Mr. Abney into the pony cart, and Cecilia drove him to his home on the outskirts of the village, James escorting them.
“Mr. Abney, no more wandering the village. If you want your head to heal, you must stay still. We’ll talk to the earl about sending someone to visit during the day.”
“Thank you, milady,” Mr. Abney said after James helped him out of the cart.
James rode close to Cecilia as she steered the pony cart up the road to Pomum Court.
“That was interesting to learn about the apple brandy,” Cecilia said.
“Yes, and you missed the part where he was telling me the old earl had casks hidden below Pomum Court,” James told her.
“Below Pomum Court! Do you think Gideon knows?” Cecilia asked.
“No, not from what Mr. Abney said. And remember when Gideon told us he wished he had the recipes of the brandy his father distilled?”
“I wonder what the secrecy was about the apple brandy?” Cecilia mused. “I also wonder if this Mr. Thomas is still alive and where he might be.”
“I don’t know,” James said. “However, I’d bet a monkey the secrecy came from the old earl selling it as smuggled in French Calvados, not English made in order to get a higher return on their money. Which is why he was more interested in the apples than the clay mine.”
Cecilia laughed. “And he could enjoy the brandy where he couldn’t enjoy the clay. Do you think this could be part of Gideon’s troubles?”
“I don’t know; however, it is one more thing to put in our kettle of information.”
“I didn’t know,” said Gideon, bemused after James and Cecilia had a chance to sit with Gideon and tell him what they’d learned from Mr. Abney.
“My father supporting himself by selling Pomum apple brandy as fine French apple brandy? You must admit, that has a Machiavellian twist.”
“I wonder if your brother knew?” Cecilia asked.
“Most likely,” Gideon said. “Smuggling has been a way of life for Devon for at least one hundred years. The English secretly buying French luxury goods like lace, silks, and fine liquors all through the wars with France, evading the tax man all the while denying they were supporting Napoleon and his war when they supported smuggling. —And father selling them his own apple brandy as the finest France produced! I should have liked to have tasted that brandy,” he admitted.
“That might still be possible,” James told him. Though they had told Gideon of their encounter with Mr. Abney and his tale of apple brandy smuggling, they hadn’t yet had the opportunity to tell him of Mr. Abney’s belief that some remained in Pomum.
Gideon snorted, “You heard the explosion from the cider mill when the apple brandy there ignited. It was incinerated. Unless Mr. Abney told you of someone who might have some of Father’s production.”
“Call in Mr. Coggle and ask him if your father had a private reserve of apple brandy,” James suggested.
Gideon frowned but rang for the man. “Mr. Coggle has been helpful in finding the liquor father stashed. He led me to the cask room beneath Pomum. There was no apple brandy there, just the wines, ports, brandies, and sherries he’d purchased from smugglers.
He probably had one of the finest wine rooms in this part of England when he died,” he told them as they waited.
A brief knock on the door. “You called for me, my lord?”
“Mr. Coggle! We are wondering if my father ever kept a private reserve of apple brandy made on our property.”
The butler rocked back on his heels, his hands clasped before him. “Oh, my, yes, my lord, that he did. And it was only to be served when his foreign visitors came to call.”
Cecilia noted an excited gleam in the man’s eyes, like he’d been waiting for this question for some time.
“How often was that?” James interjected.
Coggle cocked his head to the side for a moment. “Every two months or so. Sometimes sooner, depending on their business.”
“Did you know what their business was, Coggle?” Gideon asked.
Coggle rubbed his hands together. “Well… No sir, not precisely. Wouldn’t be healthy to know precisely, if you catch my meaning,” he said. “Though most in these parts of Devon have dealt with the night riders in one way or another.”
“And you think the old earl did?” James asked.
“Lord love ya, sir. I don’t think it, I know it! Said he got bright shiny coin from his endeavors. The staff were always paid—and paid well—after a visit by these men. We didn’t complain if our quarter-day pay were a might late.”
“And my brother, did he know as well?” Gideon asked.
“Yes, my lord, but he didn’t get along with the old earl’s visitors, so he was always elsewhere when they came to call.”
“What do you mean when you say he didn’t get along,” James asked.
Mr. Coggle frowned, his high forehead filled with banded creases.
“He thought them useless, that Pomum apple brandy could earn a high price even without them as middlemen. And he thought the taste of the final brandy was not as good as it had been before they came to fix it to high French standards.”
“But the earl disagreed with his son,” James concluded.
“Vehemently. They engaged in loud rows at night that woke the household. They were frightful to hear, with loud crashing and bashing of objects thrown at each other that I worried one would kill the other.”
Cecilia watched Gideon as the butler described his father and brother fighting in Pomum Court over the brandy.
“They each could be snippy with the other. I had no idea they fought over brandy.” He shook his head as he remembered his brother and father. Then he looked up at Mr. Coggle. “Could you show us where he hid his private reserve?”
“Yes, my lord,” Coggle said, brightening. “It used to be part of the butler storage.”
“It is off your rooms?” Gideon asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where the family stored the silver?” Gideon clarified. He considered that revelation. “Where is the silver?”
“Sold, my lord.”
“Ah, sold to make room for brandy.”
“No, my lord, it was sold before that, to pay for your apprenticeship in London, to keep you out of his business, he said,” the butler explained.
Cecilia muffled a laugh. It wasn’t humorous, and yet it was. “My apologies, Gideon. However, in its way, it shows your father respected you.”
“And feared you,” James added.
“Bah!” Gideon retorted. He began pacing the estate room anew.
“Is there anything else you wish of me, my lord?” Coggle asked. “Do you wish to see where the brandy is stored?”
Gideon stopped pacing. “No need,” he said. “I know where it’s at.” He turned and headed for the estate room door, throwing it open with a flourish.
Cecilia and James quickly rose to their feet to follow him.
He walked back toward the main entrance hall.
He headed for the door under the grand staircase that led to the servants’ area.
They passed the kitchen causing scullery maids and chef assistants to scurry out of his way, and went on through the servants’ hall.
Gideon marched on, his arms swinging, his blond good looks contorted in held anger.
He opened the door to Mr. Coggle’s bedroom, as neat as Mr. Coggle himself.
He opened the door on the left, the butler’s pantry.
Cecilia and James and Mrs. Coggle followed him.
Before she entered the pantry, Cecilia spied a brandy snifter on Mr. Coggle’s table by the bed.
She didn’t point it out, though she did smile to herself.
Even the upright and starchy have their faults, she thought.
At one of the oak cabinets that held the crystal, china, and silverware, Gideon stopped.
He moved a porcelain platter away and pressed his fingers into a space at the back of the cupboard.
The cupboard swung inward to reveal a long closet, perhaps six feet wide by fifteen feet long.
Built-in cabinets and shelves lined one wall, filled with stoneware jugs and wooden casks.
At the end of the little room were barrels.
“Coggle,” Gideon said briskly. “Are all these containers filled with Pomum apple brandy?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Cecilia’s jaw dropped as she looked around.
Gideon walked slowly down the small room. He picked up a stoneware jug to study, then he picked up a cask to study in the same way. “All of these predate my father’s death?”
“This is where he kept the brandy that had aged at least three years. Some for longer. He started aging apple brandy here in 1808. That is when those men started to visit.”
Gideon nodded. He looked all around his father’s treasure trove. “Impressive,” he murmured, then… “I’d like to taste some. Get us some brandy glasses,” he instructed his butler.
Coggle went back into the adjacent butler’s pantry and brought back three brandy snifters.
“Which brandy do you recommend we try first?” Gideon asked the butler.
“I couldn’t say, my lord. I—”
Gideon chuckled. “Stop, Coggle. Do not tell us that you have never tasted the old earl’s brandy hoard. I saw the snifter in your room.”
A red flush burned the older man’s cheeks. “Beg pardon, my lord.” He hung his head.
“Please tell me which is the best,” Gideon said.
Coggle looked up, trembling a little, “I quite like those marked with a star and the number ten.”
“Pour us two fingers that we may taste it.”
The butler’s hands shook as he pulled a jug toward him. He poured the brandy, his tongue resting slightly between his teeth as he did. He handed the first glass to Gideon. “My lord.”
Gideon swirled the brandy in his glass, then smelled it. His brows rose. He slowly brought it to his mouth to sample. He smiled and nodded to them. “Try it.”
Cecilia and James looked curiously at the glasses in their hands. Though she had had French cognac on many occasions, she’d not had apple brandy—neither distilled in France as Calvados, nor made into apple brandy in England.
Cecilia laughed. “It smells like something from the bakery!” She took a sip. She was caught by the smoothness of the liquor on her tongue. She tasted apples—tart apples with a sweet edge—then vanilla and cinnamon. “This is delicious! I can imagine sitting by a fire enjoying this.”
James agreed with her. “This was aged a long while in oak barrels before it was decanted to these stoneware jugs. The oak refinement is strong. Mr. Coggle, did you decant this apple brandy into the jug?”
“No, sir, I swear it. It was the last barrel decanted by the old earl before he passed. It was for the Frenchmen, he said. They were to purchase all these jugs and those two barrels.” He pointed to barrels marked with the same symbols as the jug.
“Did the Frenchmen come for the apple brandy after my father died?” Gideon asked.
“They did. Two days before your brother died. They had a terrible row, them threatening Lord Jasper with his life as they said they’d already sold the merchandise.
They demanded to see Mr. Abney as he was the last person they knew who distilled the apple brandy.
Lord Jasper said the man asked to be relieved of his duties at the cider mill.
He told them he’d granted Abney’s request. But he didn’t say where he went nor did they ask.
The new lord disavowed any knowledge of the apple brandy and dared them to try anything. ”
“Did he know about the apple brandy and where it was?”
“He knew about the brandy, but not its location. He told me if I knew, not to tell him so he could be honest in that answer.”
“And you didn’t tell him or them?”
“No, my lord,” Coggle said, looking down. “I was afraid.”
Gideon nodded. “I’d probably be afraid of the Night Riders, too. Go get your glass and join us for another taste.”
Gideon proposed a toast when Coggle returned, in much better spirits.
“To unexpected discoveries—and to those we are fortunate enough to share them with.”