by Jan Needle
Considering the trepidation they had lived with, they found this almost laughable in a heady sort of way — but not an opportunity that they should overlook. They did not know how much of the secret business of Yorke and Warren he’d been told, but could see no harm at all in outlining in general terms the problems and opportunities they must soon be facing on an East Sussex beach, with the implication that they must have help to be successful, and he was perhaps the man to give it them. Sam laid it on quite thick, with Will adding some telling points, but afterwards they both agreed that someone, most likely Bobby Beaumont through a messenger, had laid it thicker that Kaye could bear a hand in anything they could convince him on. Straight orders to this effect, they deemed, were rank impossible — backs must be covered, the niceties of rank and custom faithfully observed — but he had clearly been opened to persuasion that the game could be a worthwhile one. Indeed, Sam’s exposition of the kudos to be gained by breaking up not one but two notorious free trade bands — and underneath the noses of the Customs House — made the slightly bulging eyes go positively bright.
“Well,” he said, when they had finished. “This is most fascinating, it makes me positively hungry! You say the Customs lords have given you their blessing? You may tread on corns with gay abandon and impunity? Well, capital indeed!”
“But not just us,” Bentley interjected. “The agreement is between them and Lord Wodderley, the Customs and the Royal Navy. We may cross boundaries for the… ah, the common good. For you, sir, as the captain of the Biter; it could be a splendid opportunity. It is not just the common smuggler we could take and destroy, that’s the gallantest! The men behind them, the men of capital, the most-common rogues! We could strike a blow against the trade along the South Coast from which they might not recover; ever!”
Something moved behind Kaye’s eyes at this point, but Sam’s hearty laughter made the moment light.
“Don’t tear the arse out, Will!” he said. “We are not demigods, success we get is like to be more commonplace. But sir, Lieutenant Kaye, almost sure some good would come of it. Men taken — and some of them for pressing, surely — illicit trade disrupted, goods recovered, maybe some pay-off cash. To play the cynic, the part their lordships will thank us for the most they won’t make public, but they won’t forget it in the future, I’d make bold to hope: our friends the Customs shown up for fools, missing an opportunity. Which,” he added, chuckling, “we shannot offer them to start with, poor unfortunates!”
“We’d need a damn good force, I reckon,” said Kaye, when the amusement had been let to fade. “And arms in plenty. God, it would be more a landing party on a foreign fort. We could anchor off, and land in boats, and go in with cutlasses and muskets blazing. Perhaps a few rounds of grape before we hit the beach, to show them we meant business. Ach, we’re running on too fast! We do not even know exactly where or when yet, do we? No, I thought not. And the ship is stuck in Deptford, one mast stripped. We’re running on like foolish boys. You know that yard, or Mr Holt does at any rate. A two-day job could take them months.”
He was blowing cool, before their eyes. Sam dropped forward in his chair, more business-like, and raised a hand.
“Urgency would give you extra clout, sir, down at Deptford. Perhaps a mention of Lord Wodderley? If they knew he had an interest?”
“Aye, I know how to suck eggs, sir.” Kaye waved a hand. “More importantly is times and places. I cannot say I will or nay until I know the business to the bottom, can I? How quickly can I have these things? How certain can I gauge the opposition? It is a story only at the minute; you must convince me, must you not? Great heavens, if it was true in black and white just as you tell it, you’d go to Wodderley out of hand and ask him for a line o’ battle ship. I need information; hard.”
“You shall have it, sir,” said Sam. “My word on that. Mr Bentley rides this very morning to get exact locations and the day and hour. I go to the East Sussex coast to reconnoitre, if you’ll excuse the French.” Significantly he added, “We are well supplied with cash and helpers, sir. But we do, of course, need your permission.”
He granted it immediately — so much for the imagined difficulties — although in truth Will hardly heard the words. So, he went this very forenoon, did he? Thanks indeed, Sam Holt! Jesu, he was weary, but never mind. Slack Dickie, for once, was fired up, and such an opportunity must not be missed. He would set out for Hampshire as soon as he could get a proper shave and change his horse. The shore-base clothes, though draggled, would serve him for another trip if need be; in any way he could go and see Sir A, nay, absolutely must. He thought of the attackers of the night before and had a flutter in his guts, of apprehension. No reason, though, for them to lurk outside Langham Lodge for ever.
The words “French woman” caught his ear, snapping him back to the parlour room. Sam was being questioned, but was being circumspect. On the smuggling of prisoners and its supposed importance they had had their differences, and they’d agreed to leave the matter out of conversation, at least until they’d done the job in hand. Kaye had neither the scruples nor, to be fair to him, the knowledge that it was a thorny point.
“Well then? D’st think the move is imminent? Have you heard aught of her again? Have you a name? Surely she is of the party you have known?”
Sam was fiddling with a butter knife.
“We’ve heard no more than I’ve told already, sir. Quite honestly, it does not seem of interest to the band. They see it as another branch of commerce, no better and no worse.”
“Pshaw!” went Kaye. “That is the measure of them, truly! God, such filthy scum, to sell their nation like a poacher’s coney! Look, I charge you: while on your travels on the Sussex coast, wherever. Find out about this ill venture, if you can. You also, Mr Bentley, can you do that for me? You’ll be nearer to the ‘source,’ perhaps?”
Will nodded gravely.
“What Mr Holt has said is true, sir, they do not take it as serious as we. But if I hear I’ll tell you, naturally.”
“You will ask, sir. That is the way to find out information, is it not? So you will ask.” He frowned, and touched his temple with his hand. “And hereabouts,” he said, but almost to himself. “There must be knowledge hereabouts. Old Coppiner should — ”
They were watching; he was aware of it. He pushed his chair back, stood up with a laugh. He was dismissing them.
“It’s better than trudging the streets and bawdy shops, eh friends?” he said. “Heads to be broken on a beach no less, guts to be pricked! Come on, come on — there’s information to be got, instanter!”
*
Before they left to go their separate ways, Sam and Bentley took time alone to plan their future moves and meetings. They marvelled for a while at the ease with which they’d turned the trick, and when Sam apologised for “striking while the iron glowed” (in sending him off to Hampshire straight that morning, without a by-your-leave), Will agreed it was the only way to keep Slack Dickie bubbling. As they washed and tidied in the dressing room they’d hired, they computed on a three-day minimum for Will to gather vital information and return, by which time it was surely likely Biter would be free of Deptford’s clutches. The ideal would be for both of them to meet in London and join the ship together with their final intelligences, to set up Kaye and go with no backsliding; although they knew it was the nature of such businesses that something would go wrong, or change in detail. Most like, said Sam, he’d find he could do best by staying put down near the Adur mouth, and in extremis could express a message to Dr Marigold’s, where privacy could be guaranteed. Will, although he hoped such measures would not be necessary, suggested Mistress Margery to mind a letter, but Sam plumped for Annette, his favourite.
“She’s like a whip,” he said, “so I know she’s safe with you. Your fancy was a rather padded thing, too much to squeeze for my taste!”
Will felt the stab of Sam’s insensitivity, despite it was nothing new to him by now. He pushed them from his mind, that “f
ancy” and that “was,” and pointed out he did not know the girl Annette. But other men knew Margery, said Sam, and she was there to earn, while Annette and he were friends, and very intimate. What’s more — she could not read!
“I’d put a note to Margery upon the packet,” he added, “to make her tell Annette to hide it within the bosom of her dress. There! You cannot say that I’m ungenerous, although it’s you who’d have to pay her a gratuity! Just don’t fall in love; I know your weaknesses.”
“If all goes well, in any way,” said Will, “we’ll join up at the receiving hulk, shall we? Biter might be moored near it by then, or it’s not so far by boat to Deptford. I can’t see how I could need to leave a message with Annette, but you’ll check her if you have the time, you could not keep yourself away, I know!”
“Pah! If you think I’d manufacture troubles just to see Annette — you have my word on it! If worst comes worst, though, and messages cannot get through by any means, I’ll meet you on the bloody beach as planned. Then when we’ve smashed the gangs we’ll deserve some furlough, for Kaye will be the Navy’s hero. I’ll go to bed with her for days, and you can do the other thing!”
Their parting was quite sorrowful, although they laughed it off. Both faced dangers that would have eased with company, but both were buoyed with hope. The sight of Yorke and Hardman lived with them quite fresh enough to make them determined that some sort of justice should be done, and would most likely be through their actions, even if the hidden men, as was so normal, got away with it. Will felt much for Sir Arthur by this time, and longed to tell him of their prospects. He also longed for news of Deb, despite the fact it was unlikely to be ever good. Even passing some way close to her was a pain he would not care to miss.
The road, once clear of London, was quite easy and he made good time. It was light throughout his journey, he had a heavy pistol across his saddle, but saw nothing that gave him much alarm. Past Chester Wimbarton’s, by act of will, he did not go, clattering into the yard at Langham Lodge where Tony greeted him. Master was in his parlour as per usual waiting for intelligence, he said — but where is Mister Holt? His anxiety touched William, so he set his mind at rest, and hurried himself to the house to reassure the baronet, who might have seen his lone arrival. Mistress Houghton, before he had sat down in front of the fire, had bustled in, her keen eyes full of fear.
“No terror, Mrs H!” said Sir Arthur, gaily. “Young Will’s come here alone and Sam’s on other business! He tells me it is going swimmingly!”
Will, half down, stood up again to bow, and nodded all the while. In three minutes the housekeeper was satisfied and gone.
“Now,” said Sir A. “The details, sir. Sit down and give the details. From the start.”
Will told it briefly, leaving little out except that they’d been chased not far from Langham Lodge, and the details of man-smuggling and Céline. They were certain now, he said, that the deaths of Yorke and Warren were part of an internecine war and — backed by himself and Lord Wodderley — were hopeful that great damage could be inflicted on all the smugglers, which would go some way to avenging them. Lieutenant Kaye, put in the picture, was prepared to play a part, providing the Biter and a naval force to disrupt a landing and — possibly — apprehend some of the leading men. Sir A, throughout, was thinking deeply.
“Hhm,” he said, at length. “Words like ‘hope’ and ‘possible.’ Is the business not clear cut? I suppose that’s not in the nature of this game.”
He looked very old and tired sitting there. Since Will had first met him, he had aged quite visibly. But Will could not pretend.
“We can only go on trust,” he said. “Unfortunately, sir. The names of the actual men who killed poor Yorke and Warren, aye, and John Hardman too, I fear we’ll never know. But the Hampshire folk appear to hate the eastern men because of it, although behind the Hamp-shires there are some rich men they deplore. Best thing would be if the whole damn lot fell out, and shot and stabbed and clubbed themselves to death upon a Sussex beach. Helped by us and the Biter men, of course. It could occur, if luck went with us.”
Sir Arthur’s smile was pale and ghostly.
“Please God for luck then. These… ah, richer men? Do you have a clue who they might be? I’m not sure that I understand.”
Will laughed briefly.
“Nor us, sir, neither, that’s the truth. No, it is all boxes within boxes, ad infinitum. Our people down in Langstone talk of ‘shadows,’ outwardly men of great respect, but hypocrites and villains.” He paused, momentarily. “Sam and I suppose… well, men like Mr Wimbarton, for instance. That well-known justice of the peace. They seem to say we’d know them if we met them, or the type, that is to say. In the Adur secret house, for instance.”
“So. As you say it, all on trust. It is good that Mr Kaye is showing backbone at long last, it would be very hard to persuade authority to put up an official force. Worst possibly, I suppose, you could storm up to the beach and find nobody there. A dream, a tale. Chimera.”
“Yes,” said Will. “But hopeful is the watchword, is it not? The people that we’ve spoken with seem truly on our side, they have put themselves in danger for it. I’m going down there now, with your permission, and I hope to get a place and time, exact. Samuel, as I said, is heading for his own old stamping grounds by the Adur mouth, to see what he can see. On the night in question, if all goes well, we might do shrewd damage, and apprehend some ‘shadows’ into the bargain. One day, Sir Arthur, you might yet see men swing for those two gallant friends.”
The old man nodded, but seemed hardly reassured. He asked who was known down that way, and if Sam was likely to be safe. Will made light of the danger, claiming jocularly to be in tighter straits himself in Hampshire, viz. poor John Hardman at the oak-tree crossroads — but realised quickly that Sir A feared equally for both of them, so tried to bite it off. In the midst of the embarrassment, Sir A came to a decision — as if unconsciously to render it complete — and brought up Deborah.
“Sir,” he said. “There is something I must tell you. It was in my mind when you and Samuel left, I hoped you would… well, never mind for that. That maiden, sir. That Deborah. I have some news of her.”
His face was tortured, and Will had a reflection of it, in his guts. He caught his breath, waited, as if on tenterhooks. For a long while, Sir A did not go on.
“Yes?” said Will. “Please, sir?”
“She is… she has left the magistrate’s — No, all I can say for certain, is that she is well. She…”
“Left?” cried William, in a burst of hope. “How mean you, sir? Run away? Blood, but she’s — She is not here, Sir A!? No. But — where is she, sir?”
Sir Arthur’s face was a picture of regret, so clearly did he wish he had not spoken. William, ashamed of his reaction, had stood, fists clenched at his sides, and now stood with his face towards the window. Across the park, the trees bowed to the wind.
“Will,” said Sir Arthur, quietly. “I should not raise these hopes in you. I had forgot how much affection you had invested in this maid. In honesty I cannot tell you where she’s gone, save that it is to a place of safety and she has protection. For the moment, do not ask me anymore.”
“But Sir A!” Will fought to keep the anguish from his voice. Good God, if only nothing had been said! “How safe? How did she get away? I need to — I feel I — ” He ended in confusion. But I am helpless, he thought passionately, just like her. Men guide our actions, push us, never give an explanation. Where is she now? Where is she?
Sir Arthur, flustered, stood to ring a bell. He muttered, “She is safe, I give my word on that,” but would not be further drawn. When Mrs Houghton entered Will pulled himself together to give a smile, and dragged his mind back to the task in hand. The woman, realising they were both upset, was motherly, and touched Will gently on the hand. However, from then until he left an hour later, the atmosphere was strained. Sir A sat with him at table, then came with him to his fresh horse, and watched whil
e Tony adjusted straps and stirrups. When Will was set, he raised one hand in salutation.
“Farewell, my boy. God will be with you I am sure, for you deserve it more than my words can say. On that other matter… well, try to return here on your way back to London, if you have time. I will try… I will endeavour to have some proper news for you. Some explanation.”
*
By riding hard, despite soreness and exhaustion, William was on the top of Portsdown Hill two hours before midnight, on a clear full-moonlit night. He paused for a long two minutes at the vista, which still took his breath away however many times he saw it. The Solent was glowing like silver plate, the Wight behind it, brooding and crouched. High water springs, with Portsmouth harbour and its lakes joined in one expanse, with moored craft, royal and merchant, clustered down the Portsea side, at Portchester, and down the Forton and Gosport shores. From his vantage point, the hill dropped sharply to the heath and marshland, with villages and hamlets like small herds of waiting animals. Will breathed in deeply, through his open mouth, and loved it all. Then he peeled off left to trot through Stakes and down the hill to Bedhampton. In twenty minutes he could make Langstone.
At what o’clock? He was not certain. But as he walked up to Mary’s door he knew that he could knock and not be unexpected, at whatever hour. He had dismounted at the hamlet’s edge, tethered his horse, long rein, on a grassy patch quite hidden from the road, and walked the last two hundred yards extremely cautiously, shying at every noise and shadow. But all was still, the causeway being under many feet of sea. Few of the cottages had lights on, either. It was like the grave.
Within two knocks the door had opened and he was drawn inside. Mary, all alone save for sleeping Jem upstairs, embraced him as she had before, and bade him truly welcome. He looked so pale and drained, she laughed, that he could haunt churchyards for a living, but she was pleased to see him well, and pleased to see him come so very timely. If he would sit — if he could sit! — she would make him tea, or would he prefer a brandy? Duty free…