At that moment, he reached a turn in the road and there before him lay the city of Bristol, elegant in the afternoon sun, the spire of St Mary Ratcliff bold against the skyline, the long curve of the River Avon gleaming like polished pewter, Queen’s Square honey-rich in the green of its central garden, the streets of the old town busy with carts, chairs, carriages and a bustle of men and business, the floating harbour forested with masts, and beside it, the three half-timbered gables of the Llandoger Trow clear-patterned as patchwork, even from that distance. The sight of it made up his mind. He would go straight there and put his ears to work. If there was a job on Mr Bradbury’s slaver and it was worth the taking, he would know of it by nightfall.

  The Llandoger Trow faced the harbour and was renowned for its ale and was well known as a meeting place for seamen who were looking for employment. It was a well-kept house, consisting of one large low-ceilinged room, with doors and windows giving out to the quayside and the street. It had a well-sanded floor, two long bars, lined with brass-handled beer pumps, and an abundance of wooden chairs and settles, invariably occupied. The walls were papered with bills of advertisement, the air blue-clouded with the smoke of tobacco, the gossip peppered with the latest news of ships — arriving, sailing or at sea — and their owners; rogues, cheats or men ‘as honest as you’re like to get in this trade’. Jack hadn’t been inside the place for more than thirty seconds before somebody mentioned Mr Bradbury.

  He took up his pipe and his pint, pushed his way through the throng to the nearest settle and prepared to eavesdrop.

  The speaker was a grizzled sailor with a mahogany-coloured face, a gold ring in his left ear and a tar-covered plait hanging down the back of his blue smock. ‘The Frenchies are at the root of it, you may lay to that, Mr Tomson sir.’

  ‘How d’you make that out then, Mr Reuben?’ his companion said, removing his pipe from his mouth and examining the bowl. He was a striking-looking man, short of stature but broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with strong scarred hands and a heavy face, red-cheeked, leather-skinned, dark-eyed and resplendent with black hair. It sprang in large oily curls from either side of the red bandanna he wore about his head, curved into eyebrows like arched black wings and grew luxuriantly about his mouth, which was moist and red, in a heavy moustache and a thick black beard combed into ringlets. But unlike the others around him who were wearing the seaman’s uniform of coarse canvas breeches and blue smock, this man was dressed like a master in a blue jacket with fine brass buttons. ‘Construe!’

  ‘Well, like I said, Mr Tomson sir, they’m in a rush. You onny got to go down the quay to where she lies to see that. I heared tell they got to get her rigged an’ provisioned an’ ready to sail in three weeks, which is on account of they got to catch the Trades, an’ they got to catch the Trades on account of they lost a ship to the Frenchies. Took six leagues out of Barbados she was, so I heared tell, and narry a man jack of ’em saved. Old Coster, ’e reckons we could ask any sum we cared to name an’ Mr Bradbury would be glad fer to pay it.’

  ‘Old Coster’s a fool,’ Mr Tomson said, returning his pipe to his mouth, slotting the stem neatly into the space left by two missing teeth. ‘And you’m another if you believe his jaw.’

  ‘She’m a good ship, Mr Tomson sir,’ another sailor ventured.

  Mr Tomson nodded. ‘I’ve no argument with that.’

  ‘Mr Bradbury’s a good master.’

  ‘Nor that neither, on account of I’ve worked for un before an’ I daresay I shall again.’

  ‘Then why not this time?’ a third man asked. ‘We’d join with ’ee, Mr Tomson sir, you knows that.’

  ‘If I were part owner an’ could take part share of the profits, ’twould be a fine prospect,’ Mr Tomson said. ‘Or if ’twere merely a matter of captaining the ship, I might think on it — think, mind ’ee, no more’n that — but ’tis a deal more’n that on this trip, as well you know. ’Tis a matter of slaves on this trip an’ all that suchlike signifies, which is to say, plagues an’ agues an’ the bloody flux an’ so forth — stinks an’ filth an’ foul air an’ so forth — burials at sea an’ so forth — loss of pay an’ so forth, which I ain’t too sharp to take on, all things considered, no more than you should be if you’m men of sense. She’m a good ship, you’m right about that. If I could just sail her an’ so forth and find another to manage all the business of the slaves, ’twould be a different matter, a different matter altogether. As it is…’

  At that point half a dozen Dutch sailors came rolling into the inn demanding beer in their odd guttural lingo and the noise of their arrival drowned out what Mr Tomson was saying. But Jack had heard enough. It was a godsend and he had to take it. He could guard slaves as well as the next man. They’d be no danger if he kept ’em chained, and looking after ’em would be no worse than looking after any other cattle, like sheep or pigs, a matter of feeding and bedding down and keeping in control. He’d got enough bottom for that. Taut with hope and excitement and a sudden renewal of panic, he stepped forward, doffed his hat and made an elaborate bow to Mr Tomson.

  ‘I give you good day, sir.’

  The seaman looked at him quizzically. ‘And you, sir.’

  Press on. Quickly. ‘I believe I have the honour of addressing Mr Tomson, master mariner?’

  Another shrewd look. ‘Aye, sir. You do. What of it?’

  Panic swirled in Jack’s chest. The offer had to be made now while he still had the bottom for it. ‘Mr Daventry, sir, slave master.’

  ‘Well now here’s a thing, my lubbers,’ Mr Tomson said raising his eyebrows at his mates. ‘I ne’er heared tell of a such a trade as slave master afore.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Jack agreed. ‘There ain’t a many of ’em, being as most masters are content to handle the ship and the slaves. Howsomever some…’

  ‘Which you been overhearin’,’ Mr Tomson said. ‘So you’m proposin’ I hands my slaves over to you on this here trip we was a-talking of, is that the humour of it?’

  ‘Which I could handle for you.’

  ‘I take it you got some experience in the trade,’ Mr Tomson prompted.

  ‘Two voyages,’ Jack lied. ‘One as assistant and one as a slave master.’

  ‘What ship?’

  Jack fished a name out of the air. ‘The Pelican.’

  Mr Tomson looked dismissive. ‘Never heared of her,’ he said. ‘She aren’ out of Bristol. That I do know.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Where then?’

  Fear of being found out was making Jack’s mouth dry. He swallowed and pressed on. ‘Liverpool,’ he said. Was that far enough away? Would he believe it? Better sink her before he asks any more questions. ‘I’d have sailed with her a third time except that she was sunk by the Frenchies.’ And he looked at Mr Reuben as if he was expecting confirmation of his story.

  ‘Plaguey Frenchies,’ Mr Reuben obliged. ‘What did I tell ’ee, Mr Tomson? They’re the root of our troubles, if you want my opinion of it.’

  Mr Tomson ignored him. ‘How would ’ee propose to split the purse, my lubber? Tell me that.’

  Half and half, Jack thought, but reconsidered at once. ‘Three ways,’ he suggested. ‘Two for you and one for me.’

  ‘Um,’ Mr Tomson said, fondling the ringlets of his beard. ‘An’ you to take all responsibility for the cargo whatsomever, as to losses an’ provisions an’ so forth?’

  It looked as though a bargain was being offered. ‘Yes,’ Jack said. Too eagerly.

  ‘Buyin’ an’ sellin’ and so forth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then ’tis a bargain, Mr Daventry,’ Mr Tomson said, smiling hugely, and he spat on the palm of his hand and held it out for Jack to shake. ‘Meet me on Brandon Hill at eight of the clock tomorrow morning.’

  Which, having made sure that he was up in good time, Mr Daventry duly did.

  Frederick Bradbury interviewed all would-be ship’s masters in the comforting order of his ground-floor office. Surrounded by ledgers and with pen and ink before him, he felt he made more of an impression on the seafaring men than he would have done aboard ship. It gratified him to see how impressed they were by his urbanity and learning. So he was a little put out by the young man who arrived with Mr Tomson on that humid Monday morning. For a start it was highly unusual to be offered a slave master, and anything unusual disquieted him. And then there was the young man’s appearance. All the other applicants had been rough and ready men, wearing the canvas breeches and bluejackets favoured by seamen with aspirations, but this fellow dressed like quality and seemed entirely at home in the house, scanning the books with a reader’s eye and standing easily before the desk as though he were about to sit down and write.

  ‘I should point out that this position is one of considerable responsibility,’ he warned.

  ‘No doubt of it, Mr Bradbury sir,’ Mr Tomson replied, ‘and ’twill be reflected in the remuneration, doubtless.’

  ‘Naturally, providing you catch the trades and make a good profit on the cargo.’

  ‘Which is understood, sir.’

  ‘You’ve seen the ship, I daresay?’

  He had and thought it a good one.

  ‘And you sir,’ Frederick said, turning to Jack. ‘I assume you have the necessary experience for this venture. I must tell you I have no room for greenhorns on any ship of mine.’

  ‘No fear of that, sir,’ Mr Tomson assured.

  ‘Let him speak for himself,’ Frederick said, watching the young man’s bold face. ‘’Tis a dangerous trade. How should you fare were you to be attacked by pirates, which God forfend? Or boarded by ’em, which God forfend further. ’Tis a common hazard in the Indies and one that deters all but the stout-hearted. Best to be thought on.’

  ‘It don’t deter me, sir,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve a good pair of pistols and know how to use ’em.’

  ‘I’m glad on it,’ Frederick said and allowed himself to be impressed by the lad’s bearing. ‘You have references I daresay?’

  It was the last hurdle and time for daring. ‘Not from my last ship sir, no,’ Jack admitted, ‘on account of ’twas sunk by the French, but there is a lady who is known to you sir, and would vouch for me should you wish it.’

  That was a surprise. ‘Indeed? Who might that be?’

  ‘Lady Bradbury,’ Jack said, looking him boldly in the eye. ‘Wife to Sir George Bradbury. I have done her family some service in the past. I think ’tis safe to say she knows my character.’

  The revelation surprised both his hearers. This accounts for his bearing, Frederick thought, and his easy way of speaking, and he looked at the young man with renewed interest. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That seems satisfactory.’ Then there was a pause while he considered. ‘The purse is fifty guineas,’ he offered at last, ‘if ’tis agreeable.’

  Jack made a rapid calculation and spoke up quickly before Mr Tomson could agree to it. ‘Fifty-one would be preferable, sir.’

  And to Mr Tomson’s second surprise, fifty-one was agreed to. ‘I shall have detailed instructions for you later, Mr Daventry,’ Frederick said as they left, ‘as to cargo, wastage, rations and suchlike. My usual letter of instruction will be prepared for you, Mr Tomson, as you will need to gather a crew with all speed. Howsomever, I daresay I may leave such matters in your capable hands. I give ’ee good day.’

  Upon which cheerful note, he went upstairs to report his good news to his brother, who was finishing a leisurely breakfast in the sunny dining room.

  ‘We’ve a good ship’s master,’ he said triumphantly when the tale was told, ‘a man well known to us — and a better I could not have found anywhere in Bristol — to say nothing of this new young man to handle the slave side of things. Known to your wife, so he says. Done some service to the family.’

  ‘Which family?’ Sir George asked.

  ‘Hers I believe.’

  Sir George lost interest. ‘Ah, the famous family!’

  ‘He will serve our turn, famous family or no.’ Frederick laughed. ‘He’s young and eager and like to be quick, which is what we need, you must allow, since time and tide wait for no man. I shall give him the fullest instructions to make assurance doubly sure. But I have to say I have hopes of him. Yes indeed.’

  ‘Well now that’s settled, I’d best be off,’ Sir George said, wiping the crumbs from his belly. ‘I’ve a husband to find for that idiot daughter of mine or my particular scion of the famous family will have something to say that I shan’t wish to hear. We’ve done uncommon good work brother. Did I not tell ’ee how ’twould be?’

  That evening Frederick took himself off to his office and detailed his instructions for his new slave master.

  Sir,

  On arrival at the Gambia, make speed to purchase a full complement of slaves, which is to say 250 in all. Be sure to choose those who are the deepest black. Avoid those with light skins for they will not sell easily. Take no more than forty to fifty women and those young and preferably without children. They will suffice to satisfy the crew.

  Above all be sure to choose men who are well formed and strong and none older than twenty-five years for these have the most labour in them.

  Lay in stocks of leg irons and shackles to secure all the men and those women who give trouble. Mr Holdcastle, whose establishment is next door to my sugar house, will help you in this regard. Buy three branding irons with the double B upon them and plenty of tallow to use beforehand. Be sure to carry a plentiful supply of whips and one cat-o’-nine-tails for correction and let them hang in full view that they may act as a deterrent to wrongdoing.

  Be sure to carry ample supplies of water, lest you be plagued by the bloody flux or suchlike. Carry a good stock of vinegar for sweetening the decks and washing out such mouths as require it. Lay in a sufficiency of yams, meal and wood so soon as the cargo is spent. As slave master, it is your responsibility to keep the ship clean and to avoid riotous behaviour.

  You may take one slave for yourself at the time of purchase, as may the cooper and the ship’s surgeon. Mr Tomson and Mr Smith, the purser, are allotted two slaves each as is the custom on a ship of this size.

  In all other respects be ruled by Mr Tomson.

  I wish you a safe and prosperous voyage.

  Your obedient servant,

  Frederick Bradbury

  Jack had to read this missive twice before he could make proper sense of it and it sounded more ominous at the second reading with its talk of ‘the bloody flux’ and ‘riotous behaviour’. Were riots likely? he wondered, touching his pistols for comfort. Were there other diseases this man hadn’t mentioned? Was that why he said ‘and suchlike’? He could see that this was going to be a much more difficult undertaking than he’d imagined. But he had taken on the job and if that meant buying in supplies of shackles and whips and branding irons — and ultimately using them — so be it.

  Chapter 10

  Lady Bradbury and her daughters were at breakfast, pink from the baths and still languidly en deshabille when Sir George came roaring back to South Parade.

  ‘How now, wife!’ he boomed, striding into the room. ‘Still at table. Shame on ’ee for a slug-a-bed. You should take a leaf from my book, damme. I’ve been up and about since six.’ He sat down heavily in the carver chair and helped himself to two thick slices of boiled ham.

  ‘How was Bristol, my love?’ Hermione asked, speaking with deliberate gentleness to remind him of the correct way to deport himself.

  ‘Bristol is no more,’ he told her happily. It was extraordinary how confident he felt. He’d just taken on the biggest debt of his life and run the most formidable risks, yet he felt as though he’d won a great victory. ‘Bristol is settled. Signed, sealed and delivered.’ He beamed upon them. ‘We’re catching the twelve o’clock stage to London.’

  Melissa went on spooning coddled eggs into her mouth, her face vacant, but Ariadne was instantly and irritably alerted. She couldn’t go to London. Not now. Not before the fair.

  Hermione inclined her head, gracefully. ‘We?’ she questioned.

  ‘The family,’ he said waving towards his daughters. ‘All of us. Capital idea, what!’ He was so full of himself and his success that he didn’t notice that Ariadne was bristling.

  ‘Not the baby,’ Hermione said firmly. ‘Not to London. London is no fit place for a baby, especially in summer.’

  ‘London, my love,’ Sir George corrected, ‘is chock-a-block full of babies. Mr Coram’s Foundling Hospital is bursting with ’em. Can’t take any more. Arnold was telling me. They have to cast lots to get in. Little coloured balls.’

  His wife cut him short. ‘Foundlings may do as they please,’ she said. ‘What foundlings do is all one to me. William ain’t to go to London. Unless you require him to take an infection.’

  Sir George ignored her sarcasm. ‘Farm him out, then,’ he said easily. ‘You can do that can’t you?’

  ‘Not before noon.’

  ‘Leave him with the wet nurse. Let her attend to it. Be a fine time for our gels to be in the capital, be gad. Right in the thick of it all. What think ’ee, Ariadne? You’d like to go to London would you not?’

  Ariadne had been sitting bolt upright, taut with aggravation. But she tried to make an acceptable reply. ‘I agree with Mamma, sir,’ she said. ‘’Taint a fit place in summer. We must think of the infections. Besides, how can we travel today? You have only to look at the weather and consider the hazards.’

  ‘Tosh!’ her father rebuked her. ‘What kind of talk is this? Hazards? A shower ain’t a hazard, miss. A hazard is what happens in Nevis when your sugar crop gets blown to smithereens and your field hands are tossed into the air. That’s a hazard. Now bestir yourself and get ready for your journey and let’s have no more silly talk.’

  But battle had been joined. ‘I have commitments, Papa. I am engaged to dine with Charlotte this very afternoon.’

  ‘Then cancel it.’