The Blighted Cliffs (39 page)

They
had not tied my hands - they had rightly surmised that once on the
ground, blind and hobbled, my defences would be inconsequentially
feeble - but I had neither the strength nor the will to move a
single, screaming muscle. Even the sound of footsteps drawing near,
the sense through the thick sackcloth that there was a light
approaching, could not inspire me to action. I lay there, prone and
helpless before whatever new fate approached.

'Oh
ho!' came a voice, a rough voice that betrayed little sympathy, but
not, thank God, a voice I recognized from my ordeal. 'Been a
disturbance 'ere, 'as there?'

I
managed to muster an incomprehensible moan, and repeated it again as
heavy fingers prised the sack from my head, carelessly rolling me
this way and that. I took several long, gasping breaths of the sweet
air that greeted me before opening my dust-clogged eyes.

I
should have guessed sooner, of course, should have recognized the
voice from the outset, but in my punished state it needed several
moments emptily staring at my rescuer before I could focus my sight
and my thoughts together to produce a name. Constable Stubb.

'I
'opes you've not been up to mischief,' he said sternly.

He
held a stout pole bearing a lantern, and its light chiseled ghoulish,
mocking shadows into the cracks in his face. But I was not looking at
him. My gaze was transfixed by the grave opposite me, which also fell
within the orb of his lantern. The carved inscription had weathered
into illegibility, but a new name had been crudely daubed over it,
the paint so fresh it still dribbled down to form spidery serifs
under the letters. Letters which spelled out, with as much reverence
for spelling as for the tomb's original occupant, 'Martin Jerald'.

At
such moments, the mind can prove indecently trivial. 'The bastards,'
I thought. 'They've misspelled it.'

16

I
WAS RAISED UP, DANGLING BY MY ARMS AND LEGS LIKE A CHILD being swung
into a pond. They were weak, these bearers, and I scraped the ground
where I sagged between them, but I was past caring. Then there were
stairs, ascending, but with more hands to help me up them. At last
soft feathers under my head, and a warm caress enveloping me. I
slept.

I
awoke to find that I seemed to be lying on a slope, angling sharply
away from the roof above me, and for a moment I wondered by what
force I was held there. Was I tied down? No – an experimental
twitch of my limbs proved them to be free. I rolled over into the
slope, hugging myself against the soft ground beneath me. Not ground,
though - mattress. And not angled, but flat; it was the roof that
angled. A white roof. A roof that could well have been the pitched
ceiling of my room at the inn. I rolled back over for a wider view.

The
wider view was rather obstructed by the face peering closely over me.
Isobel. Behind her I could discern, or thought I could discern, the
grubby features of Isaac, his nose wrinkled in morbid fascination.

'Where...?'
I began, and stopped as I realized how dry my mouth was. And how
stiff.

'Back
at the inn.' Isobel stroked a cool hand over my forehead, her fingers
running through clotted hair. 'They found you in the churchyard and
brought you here. You weren't very well.'

I
coughed a little. 'I don't feel very well,' I agreed, although I
could at least be thankful that Stubb hadn't thought the gaol a more
suitable hospital.

I
relaxed my head back into my pillow, closing my eyes. A harsh grey
light was coming through the high window. It must be well past dawn.

I
remembered something. 'Crawley,' I whispered. 'I need to see
Crawley.'

Isobel
turned to Isaac and murmured something to him; he rose and left the
room, casting a lingering glance over my face before he closed the
door.

'Is
it so bad?' I asked, grimacing. Certainly my lips and chin could not
move very far without sending a stabbing pain through my jaw.

'Better
than your ribs,' said Isobel, trying to force some cheer. 'And your
arse. It looks like they dragged a plough over you and then paddled
you with an oar for good measure.'

'It
feels much like that.'

I
lay very still. The sheet seemed to be stuck to me, and I did not
relish the idea of pulling off half my skin with any sudden motion,
Isobel cupped a hand underneath my head and lifted it, using the
other to guide a cup of cold water to my lips. I sucked at it
noisily.

'Rest
now,' she said, when she had wiped my mouth with a handkerchief. 'You
look like you need it.'

'Crawle
y,'
I said again, stronger now. 'Mazard. I need to tell him about
Mazard.'

'Shhhh.'
Isobel pressed a finger over my lips and stroked the side of my neck.
'Captain Crawley's coming. You can sleep until then.'

She
stood, and pulled a thin curtain over the window. It did little to
darken the room, but it did take the sting off the light. Enough, it
seemed, to allow me to doze, for when I opened my eyes again Crawley
was there. He looked angry.

'I
trust these are not the fruits of some alehouse altercation.' His
voice was stern, but I sensed concern beneath it. Or perhaps I
suffered delusions.

'No,
sir,' I croaked, lifting myself up on one elbow. 'Regrettably not.'

As
swiftly as I could, with frequent recourse to the cup Isobel held for
me, I explained the facts of what had happened. I also proffered a
few opinions that had begun to form in my aching skull.

'I
was warned off my investigations, sir, told to stay out at sea. But
what investigations have I made in the last few days? On Monday I saw
Mazard, the banker, and yesterday I helped Bingham search a carriage
from London. A carriage with a small fortune in gold aboard, which I
saw being personally delivered to that same Mr Mazard.'

Crawley
scowled. 'You are weakened, Lieutenant, and in a parlous state of
mind. I shall therefore do you the courtesy of ignoring your
ravings.'

I
lifted an arm weakly in protest. 'Someone is funding the smugglers'
trade, sir - so much is obvious. Webb, the man Ducker hauled up from
the seabed, was apparently involved with them and may indeed have
lost his life because of that, as my assailants hinted last night. I
know that Webb was with the dead man, Vitos, and his companion
Laminak, and I know they intended to visit Mazard the day before
Vitos died under the cliffs. Every trail involving smugglers, gold or
murder seems to lead to Mr Mazard, and not two days after I have
confronted him I am beaten within an inch of my life.' Although I
still could not envision the shape of the maze I had uncovered, for
the first time I sensed I knew who was at its centre. And not alone,
I thought. 'And of course, everyone knows who Mazard takes as his
partner in all his businesses.'

I
had overstated my case. I saw it at once in the incredulous
irritation that crossed Crawley's face.

'You
are in no condition for uninformed speculation, Lieutenant. No man
would be who had suffered your injuries. Yon have not a shred of
evidence that Mr Mazard even knew Vitos or Webb, let alone had a hand
in their deaths. Accusing him of such monstrous crimes, without the
most overwhelming proof of guilt, would make your position in this
town, as well as my own, wholly untenable.' He pursed his lips. 'As
for Sir Lawrence, I understand well that you feel little charity
towards the man, but that does not give you the right to slander him.
Doing so will hardly improve relations between you, and you will
forfeit much of the sympathy you are due. He is a hard man who has
taken against you. Many would be pressed to fault that.'

I
slumped back. I should have known my idea would find little support,
though I was convinced of the truth of it.

'Whoever
it was,' I said flatly, 'they sent their men after me. I do not know
that they will be contented with what they have achieved thus far.'

'I
have two of the crew guarding the door,' said Crawley. 'And Constable
Stubb is downstairs.' If he purposed to reassure me, he had only
partially succeeded.

He
stood, and donned his hat.

'I
shall leave you to the ministrations of Mrs Dawson here,' he said, a
touch awkwardly. 'And send the surgeon from the seamen's hospital.'

As
soon as he was gone, Isobel sat down beside me.

'Pig,'
she said, looking at the door.

'He's
not a bad man,' I told her. 'He still suffers from his past mistakes.
I can understand his reluctance to tilt at the two most powerful men
on this station.' Especially at the behest, and on behalf, of a
junior officer with a taste for drink, a nose for trouble, and
perhaps no more than four days of a naval career remaining.

'Well,
I wouldn't blink once if you told me that Sir Lawrence was up to his
neck in this. He was round to the laundry at dawn, full of news for
Miss Hoare of where I'd been last night. Constable Stubb must have
seen me there and peached me to him.'

It
took me a second to remember that she had in fact been in the same
danger as I had, and I offered a slew of apologies for having been so
remiss in asking after her.

'Not
to worry,' she said, though her tone suggested she had been waiting
for a concerned enquiry. 'They didn't want much with me. I got away
with this.'

She
ran a finger over her right cheek. Propping myself up, with some
difficulty, I saw a long, thin scab where a shallow cut had been
made.

'But
they turned to you first,' I remembered. 'And spoke to you at some
length.'

'Only
as a way to get to you, I'd think,' said Isobel quickly. She looked
away, perhaps ashamed of her disfigurement, though I doubted it would
scar. 'Anyhow, whatever they meant by it, they got me in the end.
Once Sir Lawrence had Miss Hoare on to how I was with you in the
churchyard last night, she called me down and threw me out for being
a troublemaker and a danger. That, and some things that don't need
repeating.'

'So
you are homeless?'

I
squinted at her. A mournful feeling of shamed impotence stabbed at
me, but only after a moment did I recognize it as that favourite
state of my father's: guilt. It was not something I often
experienced.

'I'm
sorry,' I said. 'I seem to have brought a great deal of distress on
you.'

'Don't
be simple. I knew from the go that a navy officer wouldn't sit too
well with some people. Not in Dover. 'Specially not one like you.'
Isobel coughed a little, and gulped down some of the water. 'Besides,
it could be worse. I stayed at the parson's last night. He offered me
a room 'til I could rearrange myself.'

I
tried to make some sound approximating to sympathy, though it emerged
more as a strangled gurgle, and when I tried to pat her knee
consolingly my hand fell short and flapped in mid-air like a dying
fish.

'You
may stay here tonight, if you want.' I spoke more formally than I had
intended - without liquor to erode my manners, I was conscious there
was a certain impropriety in my suggestion. I tried a smile. 'You'll
find it warm, at least. Although perhaps you do not want to give Miss
Hoare the satisfaction of being proved right on the subject of your
character.'