Smuggler's Moon (31 page)

“And so you then continued the collaboration,” I offered.

“You might say so, yes.” He waited for my response. When none came, he asked, ”Are you now convinced of his reliability?”

“I am,” said I, ”though I confess that it is largely because you approve him. You were ever a better judge of character than I.”

“That is because I am older than you,” said he, ”and have been proven wrong often enough that I’ve learned by necessity how to judge men.”

He said not another word on our journey back to 18 Middle Street. I attempted to draw him out on what might be planned as our next foray against the owling trade. Yet he would not be persuaded. He simply smiled and shook his head, altogether unwilling to commit himself.

It was Molly, the widow Sarton, who wakened me late the following morning. I learned from her that Sir John had been gone for some time and taken Clarissa with him. And where do you suppose they had gone?

”Why, to Deal Castle,” said she. ”According to him, you would understand.”

Oh, I understood—indeed I did. I was to be kept in the dark, just as before. Not even to be present during the interrogation of the prisoners—that did indeed exclude me, did it not?

“He said that he had a task for you that only you or one of the three constables could perform,” she continued. ”What sort of task?”

“He dictated a letter to Clarissa and left it for you to deliver.”

Once again, it seemed, I was to play the post boy.

“To whom am I to deliver it?”

“To that young lieutenant. What’s his name? Tabor, I think it is. He said you’re to wear the brace of pistols you wore last night and …” She hesitated. ”And you’re to use them, but only if you have to, so as to protect the letter.”

Well, thought I, this errand may be more interesting than I had first assumed. It may even be of some importance in the grand scheme of things.

“I shall certainly get it out to him. You’ve got the letter, I assume?”

“Right here in my apron pocket.”

“Any specific instructions—that is, any others besides the brace of pistols?”

“Oh yes. First of all, you’re to take Mr. Crawly’s hackney up there to Sir Simon’s and no other. If he’s not available, then wait till he is.”

“All right. That’s understood.”

“Then, second, you’re to wait while the lieutenant reads it through. Tell him to take special note of all the particulars, and then to burn the letter. And if he doesn’t do it, you’re to take it from him and burn it yourself.”

I’m sure my eyes widened a bit at that. I know that my heart pounded an extra beat or two. In my memory, Sir John had never taken such extreme precautions.

The conversation I have just reported took place in the kitchen as I ate a grand breakfast and she did sip at her tea. Molly seemed to relax visibly after she had delivered Sir John’s instructions to me. I, by contrast, had been put into an uneasy state of mind, imagining ills that might befall me on my way to the Grenville estate. Perhaps to divert me from such thoughts, she introduced a new topic of conversation, one which she supposed might cheer me.

“I hear you’re reading the law with Sir John,” said she to me.

“That’s so,” said I. ”I mean to be a barrister.”

“You’ll make a good one, I’m sure. But you’ll make an even better one with a proper law library. I’d like you to go through Bertie’s books and choose whatsoever you will and take as your own.”

She had quite overwhelmed me with her offer. ”Why,” said I, ”I know not what to say.”

“ ‘Thank you’ will do quite nicely,” said she with a wink. ”Shipping will be a bit, but Sir John said that he would cover the cost for those you pick and for Clarissa’s, too.”

“Clarissa?” How did she figure into this?

“Certainly,” said she, rather defensively. ”She had the same sort of choice I’m giving you. Surely you think that’s fair, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes—yes, of course.”

“She had not so many to choose from, naturally, for Bertie wasn’t much for romances. He did like his poetry, though, used to read me some when we …”

There she stopped, quite overcome by the tears that of a sudden welled in her eyes and the trembling in her throat.

“Oh, Jeremy,” she wailed, ”what shall I do with all this furniture? What shall I do with my
life
?”

I happened to have a clean kerchief in my coat—Clarissa’s doing—so I offered it to her that she might regain her composure. And gradually, blowing her nose, clearing her throat, she managed to do just that. When,
once more, she could converse, I asked her quite innocently if she could not keep the furniture and live in the house. In response, I saw an expression of absolute disgust upon her face.

“In this town of Deal?” said she, wrinkling her nose. ”I would not remain here where Bertie and I were shunned and treated so shabby. You saw a bit of it in the church from the vicar.”

“I thought he behaved shamefully.”

“There was worse,” said she, though she did not care to elaborate. ”Besides, even if I chose to stay here, I could not.”

“Why so?”

“The house belonged not to us but to the town. Mr. Kemp, the old magistrate—him who was murdered before Bertie—left it to the town of Deal that it might provide shelter to all who succeeded him in the office. I’ve already received a notice to vacate.”

I felt a great sadness and sympathy for her, though I could think of no more to say. From what I had heard, Molly Sarton was now in a state in which a great many widows found themselves. Yet she wanted no pity. She reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze.

“I must beg your forgiveness,” said she in all seriousness.

“Whatever for?”

“For losing control as I did.” She sighed deeply. ”Oh, don’t you worry about me, Jeremy. I’ve been in tight straits before, and I’ve always come out of them well enough, for if there’s one thing I can do, it’s cook. By God, I believe I am the best cook in all of England!”

And with that, she burst out with a triumphant laugh. Her sudden change of heart I found quite contagious: I, too, believed that she would triumph over her circumstances, that she was indeed the finest cook in England. I began laughing, too.

“You’ll show them all,” said I. ”I know you will.”

Yet afterward, there was much to brood upon. Any reasonable view of her situation would have been considerably darker than what we two, in that final moment at the kitchen table, would have allowed. I realized that once I was out of the house and into the street, the letter to Lieutenant Tabor in my pocket and the pistols to keep it safe there belted round my waist.

I had no difficulty finding Mick Crawly, nor in persuading him to take me up to the Grenville estate. Nevertheless, so troubled was I by what I had heard from Molly Sarton that even though I rode beside Mr. Crawly and listened to him talk excitedly of the events of the night before, I had little to say in response. I found myself troubled, too, by the easy way he talked of roadblocks, ambushes, and the like, for after all, Sir John had been insistent to Mr. Dickens on the need for secrecy. I decided to confront him with my misgivings.

“Mr. Crawly,” said I, ”surely Sir John impressed upon you the need for absolute secrecy in regard to all that happened last night.”

“Oh, he did, he did.”

“Earlier, Mr. Dickens gave his assurances that we could trust you not to betray our operations. But betrayal can certainly be unintentional—so I must ask you, sir, have you told anyone of what you saw and heard last night?”

The expression upon his face expressed something akin to horror. And it was real enough and not mere playacting—of that I was sure.

“I gave my word, young sir, and I would never, never break that. It’s just that …” He hesitated.

“Yes, what is it?” I prompted him. I would hear the worst.

“It’s just that, well, last night—that was proper excitement, that was. Why, it was just about the most exciting time I ever had. I was so worked up I couldn’t hardly go to
sleep at all. I’ve been scarce thinkin’ of anything else since then, and here I’d sworn I wouldn’t say a thing about it. I was grateful when I seen you come along because I had somebody I could talk to about it. I was fair burstin’ to tell. Now I have. I’ll be all right now, I swear.”

“Just so long as you’re sure.”

“Oh, I am.”

We left it at that. Nevertheless, after traveling over a quarter of a mile in silence, Mr. Crawly resumed his excited discussion by asking me how many I had actually killed the night before. He seemed disappointed when I told him.

Lieutenant Tabor, however, took such matters in his stride. I found him without difficulty. Indeed, one could hardly miss the encampment of the King’s Carabineers, so near was it to the road leading past the distant manor house. His was the only tent in which one could actually stand to full height. By the time I reached him, he was dressed but unshaven; his servant was preparing to attend to it, stropping a razor, heating the water by the fire. The lieutenant read through the letter quickly and, it seemed to me, rather casually. Then, without a word, he tossed it into the open fire where the pot of water seethed. His indifferent attitude worried me a bit.

“I was to tell you to take note of the particulars which Sir John set forth in the letter, and then tell you to burn it,” said I to him. ”Since you’ve already done the latter, I trust I may tell him you’ve also attended to the former.”

“You may tell him what you like,” said he. ”I am certainly confident that I have mastered the ‘particulars,’ as you call them—time, place,
et cetera
—or I should not have burned the letter. Will there be anything else? Do you wish to insult my intelligence further?”

I held my tongue. There would be no good purpose in trading rudeness for rudeness, so I simply bowed to him most politely, wished him a good day, and departed.

For a bit, as I returned with Mr. Crawly to town, I mused upon the lieutenant’s attitude toward me. Why, he was quite as impolite as Lord Mansfield’s butler. Yet hadn’t he the day before been ever so much more obliging and mannerly? Ah yes, but the day before, I had but watched him and listened to his exchanges with Sir John and Mr. Eccles; he had had naught to say to me. He would seem then to be one—one of the many—who bowed and scraped to those he thought (or feared) might be his betters, and treated the rest with arrogant hostility. Mr. Patley had not a high opinion of the man. I now understood better the why of that.

I mentioned none of this to Sir John when I came back. There was no need, of course, but more important, he said that he had a task for me that was every bit as important as the one from which I had just returned. I was eager to hear of it.

“Do you wish me to wear pistols for this one, as well?” I asked him.

“What? Oh, no, certainly not necessary. Indeed, if you were to do so, it might create the wrong impression altogether.”

“Perhaps I should ask just what sort of task you have in mind for me.”

“Simple enough,” said Sir John. ”I wish you to go down to that sandy beach where you and Mr. Perkins and the two Deal constables prevented the landing by that crew of smugglers—I know not the name of it.”

“Goodwin Sands—or so I understand.”

“Very well, Goodwin Sands then. Where was I? Ah yes, I wish you to go down to that beach and look for Mr. Bilbo.”

This was indeed good news. ”Is he coming for a visit?”

“No, no, not the sort you mean. He’ll not be coming ashore at all, not even anchoring out there offshore.”

This was most puzzling. ”How then shall I see him? How can I know him?”

”Why, by the flag that he flies. You’ve noticed, I’m sure, Jeremy, that ships that ply the Channel hereabouts fly all manner of flags from their rigging and their masts?”

“Well, yes, I have, but I thought them more or less for decoration.”

“Nothing of the kind. The Union Jack, which you’ve no doubt seen, is flown for purposes of identification. It declares that this is a
British
ship. The orange ensign identifies the ship as Dutch, and the
fleur de lys
flag declares the ship as French. Ah, you say, but what about the rest of them—those small flags that flutter all round the rigging? You’ve seen those, too, haven’t you?”

“I have, yes, and wondered at them,” said I.

“Well,” said Sir John, ”they’re there as signals—to other ships or to those on the shore.”

“What do the signals say?”

“Whatever they might like them to say,” said he quite expansively. ”It would all be worked out in advance between those in the ship and those on the shore.”

“Now I begin to understand, sir. You and Mr. Bilbo have worked out a code between you, have you not? But how did you know when Mr. Bilbo would be here?”

“That was according to his estimate,” said Sir John. ”I could in no wise dictate to him the time of his arrival. He did say, however, that if all were ready he would sail by Deal morning and afternoon. There’s little of the morning left, but he’s a man of his word, and we must look for him during the rest of the day. I cannot see him, and so you must be my eyes in this. Do you recall the general look of his ship?”

“I do, yes,” said I. ”It’s called a sloop, is it not? I’ve seen others like it.”