Chapter Two
Queen’s Barque Inn, The next morning
Studying his newspaper, Kit sipped his coffee.
Loud voices rose from across the room where Brewster senior sat opposite another gentleman.
A quick glance showed the few customers and servants remaining all stopped to watch the exchange.
The gentleman spoke softly, but his condescending manner bothered Kit.
“Brookbank, you thieving inkslinger, you’ll not threaten me with canceling my license. I’ll protest to the squire!” Brewster announced.
Brookbank rose. Brewster followed suit. Taller by several inches, the innkeeper weighed at least two stone more than the clerk, yet the smaller man crowded Brewster, forcing him to step back.
Brookbank’s sneer implied that backing down was precisely the reaction he desired. “You know very well; I act on my employer’s orders. Squire Fenneman wishes you to cease and desist all activity aimed at drawing more people to Fenwick on Sea.”
“Don’t believe you,” the innkeeper protested. “Squire’s never told me he opposes plans for the improvement of Fenwick.”
“He wouldn’t deal directly with the likes of you. He left it to me to convey his displeasure at your continued lack of cooperation with his own plans for Fenwick’s benefit.”
“What precisely are those plans? Squire’s never mentioned plans.” Arms akimbo, Brewster leaned in toward the smaller man.
Brookbank should have been intimidated. Instead, he countered the move, stepping forward once more and compelling another backward step from Brewster. The clerk then gripped the bigger man’s forearm hauling him downward until they were nose to nose.
What Brookbank said, Kit couldn’t tell. The man whispered. Whatever it was must’ve been terrifying, for Brewster paled then raced from the public room.
“You’d best comply quickly, innkeeper. Squire Fenneman isn’t a patient man.” Leaving his words to chase after Brewster, Brookbank surveyed the room.
Kit’s gaze followed.
All those who stared earlier now busily minded their own business.
Triumph grew in Brookbank’s smile. He nodded to himself, donned his cloak, then strode away like the cock of the walk.
Kit resumed his newspaper and drank his coffee. George was supposed to guide him about Fenwick and the surrounding area. However, Kit was determined to learn the details of the interaction between innkeeper and clerk.
If the threats were empty, fine, but that was unlikely given Brewster’s reactions. Kit liked George’s father and everyone he’d met thus far in Fenwick. If possible, he’d help resolve whatever difficulties set innkeeper and squire at odds.
First, he needed to know what the problems were. An effective plan of attack required knowledge of the ground where the battle would be fought.
Kit watched the fine autumn morning turn cloudy. Rain threatened. Not the most auspicious sign for a pleasant tour of Fenwick on Sea and its environs.
George arrived with the news that Kit’s rooms were inspection ready.
“Sit down,” Kit instructed then related the argument between Brewster Senior and Brookbank.
When he finished, George was flushed; his hands fisted on the table.
“That cur.”
“I agree. Brookbank’s behavior was beyond discourteous.”
“No, not him.” George shook his head. “The squire. He’s been a plague on my family and others since before he left to serve in the war.”
Kit blinked. “You mean Brookbank really did act on Fenneman’s authority?”
“Probably. Though whose authority is a question.
Used to be that Squire Fenneman, who serves as Tax Commissioner and Justice of the Peace, would hear accusations against smugglers.
Of those accused only one or two were ever convicted.
Rumor had it that some of those unpunished men had smuggled for Squire Fenneman.
“So, Fenneman has profited from the smugglers for years,” Kit surmised.
“Yes. Then, shortly before he left for the war in 1801, he hired Brookbank,” George continued. “Within a week, the squire joined the Commissariat Corps. In his absence, Brookbank positioned himself as the head of all illegal trade in the area.”
“Hmmm. Perhaps we should include your father in this conversation. You’ve only been home a while, so you may not know the full extent of Brookbank’s activities, or the squire’s.”
The breakfast crowd thinned out. Soon enough Kit was the only customer, and Brewster was free to join them.
“Georgie here says ye wish to talk with me.” He patted his son’s shoulder as he pulled out a chair and sat. “How may I be of help, Captain?”
“First, this conversation must remain between the three of us. Second, please do not address me as Captain Copefort.”
“Captain Copefort. I know that name. Thought I recognized it when you took your rooms. You wouldn’t be Captain Breakneck Copefort?”
“No longer. I wish to leave the war and my part in it behind.” Taking care of this business with Fenneman was part of that effort.
“Happy to oblige, sir. You may count on my discretion. I’m a friendly sort, but I know how to keep a confidence when asked.”
Kit believed him. George certainly knew when to remain silent.
“You can trust my father, sir,” George assured.
“I couldn’t avoid overhearing some of your conversation with Mr. Brookbank,” Kit said.
“Is he up to his old tricks, Da?” George asked.
The innkeeper silenced his son with a look. “I am sorry you heard that, Mr. Copefort. ’Tis nothing I cannot handle.”
“I don’t doubt it. What concerns me is the extent of illegal activity here. Do you believe the squire is also involved?”
Brewster pressed his lips together then cast a glance at his son before laying his hands palms up on the table.
“I told Mr. Copefort about the smugglers who went free and the belief that the squire profited from their activities,” George informed.
“I’ve no evidence the squire is involved,” the innkeeper said at last. “However, there’s always been talk, even before Brookbank arrived.”
Kit lifted a brow. “If you believe the squire’s exceeding his authority as Justice of the Peace and Tax Commissioner, I wish to know it.”
“The squire’s too high in the instep to deal directly with any of us common folk. All his commands come through Brookbank. Occasionally, his daughter relays commands from her father.”
Kit ignored a brief twinge in his chest. Was the young lady of last night’s encounter, Fenneman’s daughter? “What sorts of commands?”
“Mostly complaints about my lack of compliance with some ridiculous new order he’s made. I ignore him. He can’t make laws as JP. He tries to force me by threatening to raise my taxes or cancel my tavern license.”
“What was today’s complaint?” Kit asked.
“Squire don’t like the plans to improve the harbor and bring more custom to all of Fenwick. Brookbank says improvements to the Queen’s Barque will increase my taxes and possibly violate my license. If I hide goods for the smugglers, Brookbank will intercede with the squire.”
“What’s Squire Fenneman doing to discourage this activity?”
“He does nothing himself. It’s all Brookbank.
If folk don’t cooperate, they’re beaten, or their property is destroyed, or their taxes raised.
The clerk has a group of bully boys from the Yarmouth docks who do his dirty work.
Protests have been made to the squire, but since he refuses to see anyone in person, everything goes through Brookbank. ”
“Did Brookbank threaten you with these bullies today? Is that why you left so abruptly?”
“Nothing so straightforward. He just said that he might invite his Yarmouth friends to dine here tonight. I needed to warn my wife and daughters.”
“Does the bully crew frequent your public room?”
“Only once. They harassed my servers and picked fights with my male customers. I made clear to Brookbank if he wanted any cooperation from me, he’d keep them in check, and they’d not be allowed within a mile of the Queen’s Barque.
I’ve a reputation to maintain, and customers who don’t feel safe will stop spending their coin here. ”
“So, you suspect the squire’s behind all of this?”
Brewster senior winced. “He wasn’t the most honest of men, even before he hired Brookbank.
There’s always been a few gangs of smugglers hereabouts, but small operators of little interest to the government.
However, when Squire Fenneman hired Brookbank, then left for the army, things began to change. ”
“How so?” Kit queried.
“The gangs got bigger. A couple of small groups resisted, but Brookbank doesn’t like competition.”
“Brookbank brought in more men?”
“No, he somehow—either by force or persuasion—convinced many of the smaller gangs to band together. He brought in the Yarmouth bullies to threaten those who might not want to be part of his schemes. The hauls got larger.”
“How do you know that?”
“I haven’t wanted to cooperate with Brookbank, but I couldn’t stop them from using my cellar to store brandy tubs. Not if I wanted to keep my family safe. I heard from friends that their homes or farms were being used too.”
“Which means,” Kit mused. “That more goods were smuggled in one venture and profits increased.”
Brewster senior nodded.
“Sir, why are you taking an interest in the local trade?” George asked.
“While in the army, I was asked to look into complaints concerning Major Frederick Fenneman. Some enlisted soldiers and junior officers made claims he was engaged in profiteering.”
“Major was the squire’s rank,” George and his father spoke in near unison.
“Precisely. Any accusations against an officer by subordinates would be dismissed without credence. Senior command authorized an investigation of which I am part.”
“Did you find any evidence?”
“I managed on two occasions to witness encounters between Fenneman and persons who appeared to be civilians. These meetings took place well away from any camp or military activity. I concealed myself near enough to hear the conversations. On both occasions Fenneman negotiated the exchange of English weapons and supplies for tea, brandy, silks and money. Fenneman’s guilty of profiteering.
The tea, brandy and silks probably were smuggled into England—most likely right here at Fenwick on Sea. If so, he’s complicit in that as well.”
“What of the money?”
“I’ll wager he used some of the cash to purchase inferior goods to substitute for the supplies he sold. What he didn’t use, he most likely pocketed.”
“Sir,” George spoke up. “Why didn’t you report him?”
“I made my report, but no action was taken.”
“Why not?”
“As with the earlier complaints, the Major outranked me. In addition, he wasn’t in my chain of command.
I’d no proof beyond what I’d witnessed. Even combined with the statements of several others, the evidence was insufficient.
I promised myself I would see Fenneman pay for his crimes.
The number of English soldiers who died because of inferior weapons, food, and clothing is too great to tell. ”
“I admire your promise, Captain,” the innkeeper said. “However, I’ve as little proof as you of the squire’s wrongdoing.”
“What about your friends and neighbors? You say they’ve been threatened or punished for not cooperating?”
“The squire’s no fool. Everything comes through Brookbank.”
“Yes, Fenneman’d make sure he couldn’t be blamed,” George commented.
“I doubt anyone in Fenwick’d be willing to lay information against the squire or his clerk.” Brewster rubbed his chin with thumb and forefinger. “Perhaps you’d speak with them. With more information, we may not need witnesses.”
“That’s a reasonable start. However, we must consider Fenneman may not be calling the shots. As George implied earlier, the possibility exists Brookbank’s coercing Fenneman for his silence and cooperation.”
“I’d not thought of that.” The innkeeper looked down at his hands on the table.
“How could we learn the truth?” George asked.
“Short of asking him directly, we must gather evidence of the smuggling. As we do that, the identity of the gang’s leader should become clear.”
“And,” Brewster senior added, “gathering evidence begins with you talking to the residents of Fenwick.”
“True,” Kit agreed. “However, I can’t simply tour the countryside interviewing people about their dealings with smugglers. I need a reason for asking questions of the locals.”
They sat silent, thinking, until George straightened. “What if you were to say you’re looking for a place to settle. It’s what you intended once we left Fenwick.”
Kit furrowed his brow. “True. I’d not thought of settling so close to the sea, but exploring the idea doesn’t mean I must commit to it. Logically, I’d make inquiries about any location I’d consider as a home.”
“Excellent idea, Georgie.” Father slapped son on the back.
“’Tis still morning, we might as well start now.” Kit looked at George. “Where do you suggest I begin?”
“Mr. Beuth’s shop I think.”
Kit cast a glance out the window then stood. “The rain seems to be letting up.”
“Nonetheless, Captain, I’ll fetch your things.” George hurried off.
“Brewster, will you join us?”
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Copefort. However, I’m behind in my duties and had best remain here. Else, I’ll never hear the end of it from Mrs. Brewster.”
As they crossed the street, Kit noted the worn but clean condition of the buildings that bordered the road.
His thoughts drifted to a pair of gold-dusted blue eyes.
Could a woman of Miss Fenneman’s standing be an active part of a smuggling gang?
Perhaps she was simply an observer, kept silent by loyalty to a relative who didn’t deserve it.