The Wicked Trade (The Forensic Genealogist Book 7) by Nathan Goodwin (types of ebook readers TXT) 📕

inland with their cargo, ‘…leaving him in a state of insensibility – his head was swollen to a great size, and covered with blood which seemed to have issued from five wounds in the scalp, from one to four inches in length. Several bruises were observable on his body, particularly the neck, shoulders and arms. Since receiving the above injuries, Lieutenant Fabian has complained of loss of memory, dimness of vision, headache and giddiness…’

As Morton continued to read the barbaric accounts, he realised that his perception of smugglers had been of a kind of romantic Robin-Hood-esque gang of poor labourers living on the breadline, forced to commit low-level crime which only affected the rich King and his government; a different perspective, however, was appearing from these official documents of increasingly desperate and vicious men.

‘Do you want me to photograph this letter from June 1826, with the names of four arrested smugglers? They’re not your guys—Thomas North, William Derrick, George Taylor and James Banks alias Drum.’

‘Yes, please,’ Morton confirmed. ‘They were probably all part of the gang.’

The next two letters from Captain Pigot were similar to that which Jack had just found; confirmation of the capture of several smugglers. Clive Baintree had been correct in his assessment: the mid-1820s had been a prolific period of smuggling for the Aldington Gang.

Captain Pigot’s next transmission to the Admiralty, in April 1826 contained an enclosure by Lieutenant Samuel Hellard, reporting two further smuggling runs that had taken place that month.

‘This could be interesting,’ Jack said, nudging his elbow towards Morton: ‘3rd July 1826. Sir, In reply to your letter of the 29th June, I have the honour to acquaint you for the information of my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, that William Kelly, one of the men who received two sovereigns as a bribe for allowing certain contraband goods to be run on his station, made the confession of the same with reluctance, and not until a search was ordered and the seams of his bed, where the sovereigns were found, to be cut open. This man was punished for the offence with twenty-four lashes and is the only person who could identify the man giving the bribe, but from the manner in which he prevaricated, no credence could be given to what he asserted: that the man was named Sam, hailed from the parish of Aldington and had suffered some degree of injury to his right arm. Therefore, the case was not communicated to the Board of Customs for prosecution…’

‘Sam from Aldington with an injured arm…’ Morton mumbled, remembering his own theory that perhaps Samuel Banister had been hurt at the Battle of Brookland in 1821.

‘Could this be our guy?’ Jack mused.

‘Maybe, yeah,’ Morton answered, liking the way that Jack was referring to ‘our guy’, assuming a central role in the case. ‘But it really is circumstantial at this point; there was another Samuel—Bailey—also from Aldington who was part of the gang, and probably several others with that name, as well.’

‘I’ll keep going, then.’ Jack smiled, taking a photograph of the page, before moving on.

 A few pages later and Jack came to the inevitable report of the murder of Richard Morgan. He summoned Morton with a beckoning wave of his hand. Morton leant over and began to read the account: ‘30 July 1826. Sir, It is with extreme regret that I have to report the melancholy death of Richard Morgan, first-rate quartermaster, of His Majesty’s ship under my command, who was shot by an armed party of smugglers about 1.00am near the Bathing Machines at Dover, under the circumstances set forth in the accompanying letter from Lieutenant Samuel Hellard, superintending the Right Division of the Coast Blockade—’ Morton paused and looked at Jack. ‘I’ve seen an exact copy of this letter already today in the Board of Customs and Excise book,’ Morton said, continuing to read further through the letter in confirmation. ‘Yes, definitely. What’s next?’

Jack turned the page, and the two men silently read through the letter: ‘30th July 1826. Sir, With reference to Captain Pigot’s letter of this date transmitting copy of a letter with its enclosure addressed to Vice Admiral Sir Robert Moorsom, relative to the melancholy death of Richard Morgan first-rate quartermaster of the Ramillies, I do myself the honour to forward for the information of my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty a letter which has just reached this place from Lieutenant Samuel Hellard superintending the Right Division of the Coast Blockade requesting that officers from Bow Street may be sent to assist in the apprehension of some of the parties concerned in this lawless outrage. I have the honour to be, Sir, Your Most Obedient Humble Servant, Senior Lieutenant Williams, HMS Ramillies.’

‘What’s this about officers from Bow Street?’ Jack asked.

Morton explained that they had been the first police officers. ‘Is the letter from Samuel Hellard there?’ he asked.

Jack carefully turned to the next page and read the short letter: ‘30th July 1826. I respectfully submit to you, Sir, the propriety of one or two of the most active officers from Bow Street being immediately sent to this town, which I am firmly of opinion can secure the arrest of this lawless party…’

‘Well, they were successful…’ Morton said, just as his mobile began to ring in his pocket. He grimaced, fished it free, and promptly silenced it. Arthur Fothergill’s name was flashing up on screen. He deliberated momentarily whether to answer it but decided that he would call him back later; his time was better put to use here. ‘Arthur,’ Morton said to Jack.

Jack nodded, having turned to the next letter. He glanced up at Morton and asked, ‘Does the name Jonas Blackwood mean anything?’

Morton shook his head. ‘No, why?’

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

16th January 1825, Hythe, Kent

‘Thank you, sir,’ Ann said, unable to hide her wide grin.

‘The pleasure is all mine, Miss Fothergill,’ Mr Claringbould declared,