Page 44 of The Shifting Tide (William Monk 14)

He was glad to feel the solid earth under his feet, but his mind was in turmoil, his emotions raw. He hated having appeared such a fool to Durban. Even when the time came that he could tell him the truth, it might not sound a great deal better, even though ideas were at last becoming clearer in his mind. There were threads to follow, something definite to do.

SEVEN

Monk returned home for the night, but Hester was not there. The emptiness of the house oppressed him and he found himself anxious for her, thinking how tired she must be. At least she was in no danger; Margaret Ballinger and Bessie would look after her as much as they could.

In the morning, he dressed, choosing another jacket with no tear, then went downstairs and cooked himself kippers and toast for breakfast. At eight he set out to pursue the ideas he had formed from the knowledge gained the day before. He began by enquiring for the exact location of Culpepper’s warehouse, then taking a boat down the river to Deptford Creek, just short of Greenwich.

He went ashore on the south bank and walked slowly along the street past ironmongers, ships’ chandlers, sailmakers, and general stores, making a note of the local public house, and then went and stood on the dockside as if waiting for someone. After a little while watching the laborers come and go, he began to appreciate how many men worked for Culpepper in one way or another. Culpepper was obviously an ambitious man.

In the public house at lunchtime again he listened, then, when he had heard enough, he continued to fall into conversation with a disgruntled dock laborer who said his name was Duff.

“It’s hard,” Monk sympathized with him. “Good work isn’t easy to come by.”

“Good work!” Duff exploded. “They’re a bunch o’ cutthroats, the whole poxy lot of ’em.”

“Pity they don’t cut each other’s throats and save us all our grief,” Monk agreed.

“Could ’appen.” Duff looked suddenly cheerful at the thought. “Culpepper an’ Louvain, any road. That’d be a start.”

“That’s what I heard,” Monk agreed. He leaned forward confidentially.

“I have interests. I need to be sure I put them in the right place. Can’t afford to back a loser.”

Duff’s eyes brightened and he sat forward a little. “Prepared ter pay a little for yer information, are yer?”

“If it’s accurate,” Monk answered. He made no threat as to what would happen if it were not, but he looked steadily at Duff’s narrow face and held his gaze. “And I keep my promises, good and bad.”

Duff swallowed. “What is it yer need ter know, like?”

“I’ll take a little at a time, and test it,” Monk replied. “If it’s true, I’ll pay in gold. If it’s false, you’ll pay in blood. How’s that?”

Duff swallowed again. “I got friends too. If yer gold in’t the real thing, yer’ll never dare come back ’ere. River’s eaten more’n one gent as thought ’e were an ’ell of a clever sod.”

“I’m sure it has. Let’s start with saving me a bit of time. How many properties does Culpepper have, where are they, and what does he have his eye on to buy next?”

“Easy!” Duff listed three wharves, a couple of warehouses, and a lodging house, as well as a good-sized dwelling. “An’ ’e wants the clipper, the Eliza May, soon as she comes up for sale.” He grinned. “So does Clem Louvain. We’ll see ’oo ’as the money on the day, eh? She’s a beauty! Cut their sailing time by a week or more from the Indies. Worth thousands o’ pounds, that is, with a good load. First in makes a fortune; second counts fer nothin’, a few ’undred.”

Monk knew that already. He needed to learn if Culpepper had either hired the thieves who had taken the ivory, or if he had bought it from them afterwards, knowing that it would be the beginning of defeat for Louvain.

He stayed, questioning Duff for another half hour, passed him a gold guinea, and sent him to find out more about recent cargoes. A mass of questions that he asked disguised the one that mattered.

He spent the afternoon farther down the river watching, making notes of cargoes, times of comings and goings, and began to amass enough information to tell him how far Culpepper’s empire stretched.

The following day he returned with more money to pay Duff. By now he was learning enough of Culpepper’s trade to see how important it was to his future profits that he, and not Louvain, purchase the Eliza May.

“Course ’e wants it!” Duff said bitterly. “ ’e won’t be top dog down ’ere anymore ’less ’e does! Louvain neither.”

“There’ll be other ships, won’t there?” Monk asked, leaning on the railing of the pier and watching the dark water churn beneath him. The barges going past, following the tide, were so heavily laden that in places the decks were awash.

“Course, but losin’ counts,” Duff replied, pulling a clay pipe out of the pocket of his coat, knocking the dottle out, then shredding tobacco with the fingers of his other hand before stuffing the shreds into the bowl. “Lose one fight, an’ the next time you start out two steps be’ind, like. People don’ back yer no more. Folks as used ter be scared o’ yer all of a sudden find out they’re more scared o’ someone else.” He put the pipe in his mouth and struck a match to light it, inhaling slowly. “Winnin’ an’ losin’ ’as their own rules,” he went on. “The more it goes one way, the more folks foller the tide, like. When it turns, that’s it. Yer don’ wanna lose, mister. Like rats, they are. The cowards leave yer, the bad ones turns on yer, all teeth an’ claws. If yer made enemies, losin’ is the beginnin’ o’ the end. The big bastards can’t afford ter lose. The likes o’ you an’ me it don’ matter, we done it afore, an’ we’ll be low awhile, then we’ll come back.”

Monk could see the profound truth of that. No wonder Louvain needed his ivory back. And that explained why there was no word of it anywhere along the river. It had not been sold; it was stored, hidden so the loss of it wrought the maximum damage to Louvain.

He thanked Duff and left. He needed to know more about Culpepper so he could find out where the ivory was. It would mean endless small questions. He would have to disguise them, or word would creep back to Culpepper. At best he would move the ivory and Monk would have to start all over again. If Culpepper was nervous, or angry enough, he would even sink it in the Thames mud, and it might never be found. There was the chance he had done that anyway, but surely he would not willingly destroy a cargo of that much value?

Monk tried several inventive stories, mostly about an heiress who had eloped, in order to question rivermen as to who and what they had seen on the river around Culpepper’s wharves on the morning of October twenty-first. For two days he stood in the cold asking painstaking questions and noting the answers almost illegibly, his hands were so stiff, his body shivering. The steps were slimy with salt and weed; the wooden piers creaked and sagged under the weight of years. The wind scythed in off the river, mist-swathed sometimes, knife-sharp in the early mornings, always the light shifting in blues and grays cut with silver shafts. Then finally he had enough.

It was the evening of October twenty-nine, as he sat at home, the kitchen stove open and stoked high, the kettle steaming, putting it all together, that he made sense of it. He had his feet in a bowl of hot water, and a pot of tea on the table, and three slices of toast made, when he saw the one fact that tied it all together.

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