by Joan Smith
"Devil a bit of it, miss. Two hundred pounds split between us all once ain't likely to be a temptation. Besides, we're all in it together. Our guilt would keep us in line if our honor did not. But the honor is enough. The word of a gentleman has a special sort of meaning here on the coast. Old Frank Higgot went to the gibbet without telling a single soul some few years ago. My pa used to speak of him. I'd credit any of our lads to do the same. I know I would myself, and so would you, wouldn't you, miss?"
"I would, Jem. Word of a gentleman,” I told him unhesitatingly, and meant it. I can't tell you how his integrity affected me. I felt proud to be associated with him, and the rest of my gentlemen.
This settled, I outlined the plan I had mulled over to claim the reward without putting any of us in danger. The money would be split evenly among the men. He was tickled pink with it. A lusty shout of laughter sent Edna dashing to the door to warn us to silence. “The problem is to get the next load landed at the Eyrie without Wicklow seeing us,” I finished up.
"He's got his head so full of that notion, we'd have easy work landing it almost anywhere else,” he said with a meaningful little smile.
"Clever lad! If I ever retire, Jem, you shall be the next Miss Sage, and that I promise you."
"I always figured to take the name Miss Parsley,” he said, laughing. “My ma grows it in her kitchen garden. Right pretty stuff it is. Tasty too."
"Planning to replace me, are you?” I quizzed lightly.
"Only when you're ready to step down, miss. You did say, at the beginning, you'd give us a hand for a while. Ganner said so at least, and I think you said something the same to me once."
"If only you were a little older."
"I'm nineteen, miss. Older than I look. It's my being smallish that leads folks to think me younger than I am. You were about the same age, I think, when you began. But I wouldn't want you to get the idea I'm trying to elbow you aside, for it's not so."
"I know. Now about this load coming in a week from Friday. There's none this week, with the moon at the full. Dare we land it at Aiken's place again, after pulling the old coffin stunt?"
"Hmm, happen it was a good idea we put a real carcass in the box after all,” he said, stroking his chin. “Made it look like a real plague victim and all, to lead suspicion away from us."
"Jemmie—you never told me! You mean there was a real body in that coffin?"
"Oh, aye, but a dead one, of course. I didn't like to speak of it to you. It's a mite unsavory to talk of to a lady. The lads dug up a corpse lately buried in the parish field, where no one would be apt to miss it. The skull never quite goes in the burning, nor the organs. There's always traces enough to tell. I was glad we took the trouble, when I heard it was to be dug up, for it makes it look as if it was nothing to do with us at all. So I reckon we can use Aiken's place right enough."
"There is that jut in the coast that hides it from the Eyrie. We'll land it at Aiken's, but it must be removed to the Eyrie later that same night. We'll hide it in the stable as we did before, and when Mark gives us the signal Wicklow has given up for the night, we'll transfer it to the Eyrie."
"If Crites don't get to interfering. He don't suspect the Eyrie at all, and might have an eye on Aiken's, unless..."
"Unless some helpful schoolteacher mentions the Eyrie to him,” I said, smiling. A new idea darted into my head, so fiendish it would shame Satan. Crites half suspected Williams. If I not only mentioned the Eyrie, but went on to say Williams had been seen hanging about there ... Was it possible he would be induced to arrest Williams for us?
You will be thinking me a strange sort of a creature, to do this to a man I half loved, and half believed loved me. It is that miserable four-letter word “half” that accounts for it. I knew he was, or had been, engaged to Lady Lucy, and at that time he was still making up to me so there was not sufficient reason to believe him serious now. In my deepest heart of hearts, my feeling was this: that he loved both of us at once. Half loved the two of us—that wretched word “half” again! It was not enough for me. All or nothing at all. I am a fine one to talk, being in such a position I could not marry him if he were serious about his offer. He was lost to me in advance, so why not get on with the more serious business of the enterprise?
I owed him a little payment for the London visit too, when he had put off seeing us. And through all his declarations he kept insisting he wished to become a “gentleman” for my sake, when he was already a baronet. This was patent lying, and if Crites bothered him a little, it would clear the slate. Miss Sage, you will notice, was a pretty careful bookkeeper.
The next step was to arrange an accidental meeting with Officer Crites. The sign on the post office door was the likeliest spot to find him. I dashed off another note to Mrs. Harvey, expressing the hope she was not ill, as she had not replied to my last. I had to wait half an hour to get Crites alone, fifteen for him to arrive, and fifteen for the other stragglers to leave. I would be late for my dinner, and Edna would be quite convinced I had been captured. She prophesies this catastrophe regularly, doing my nerves a great deal of good.
"Officer Crites, here is a help to you in your work,” I began, indicating the sign. “I expect you have been besieged with people all day long, dropping you hints about Miss Sage. Tell me,” I said, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “who is he?"
He tried to put a clever expression on his rabbit's face, with very indifferent success. The teeth defeated him. “Afraid I'm not allowed to discuss it,” he said, with a superior air.
"It's Mr. Williams, isn't it?” I urged, still in my secret voice. “Oh, you are so clever, you had it all figured out ages ago, even before Mr. Williams started using the Eyrie for his dealings. But I shan't tell a soul."
Poor Crites, his eyes nearly left his head while his teeth bounced out from under their concealing lip. “The Eyrie! When did you—what do you..."
"Why else would he be visiting Miss Lock, paying her calls? She is not his type, would you say, Officer Crites?"
He was not about to let on I had just told him several things he was unaware of. He swallowed a couple of times and sought to discover more, without revealing his ignorance. I was eager to give him every help. He was full of delight and schemes when he took off down the road, with a wink and a nod over his shoulder, and even a reminder that I might soon be sharing a thousand pounds.
I went on into the post office to mail my letter, just taking a casual glance at the letters on the table beyond the cage that had not yet been picked up. When the name of Mr. Williams stared up at me, I felt a strong urge to get a closer look at it. It was franked, with a name that looked very much like Hadley. “Mr. Williams asked me if I would inquire whether there are any letters for him,” I told Joe Parsons, who is the clerk. My reputation was sufficiently glossy that Joe handed it over with no more than a leering smirk.
I resisted the impulse to rip it open. I could not believe it was a business letter. The scent of violet emanating from the envelope would have told me it was from a lady, if the spidery handwriting, in purple ink, had not. As the frank proved on close inspection to be Hadley's, the identity of the lady could be in little doubt.
Wicklow's worried, guilty countenance when I handed the missive to him was a good corroboration of the identity of the sender. He looked as culpable as a man caught with his fingers in the cash box. “Oh, from Lady Hadley,” he said, quickly laying it aside. “I am vastly relieved to hear from her. I came away from London leaving one of my best jackets behind. She will be asking what I want done with it."
"I haven't heard you mention Lady Hadley before,” was all I said. I had certainly heard my aunt mention her funeral, however. I felt not a single qualm at my treatment of Mr. Williams as I strode briskly home.
Chapter Sixteen
The hours dragged by on leaden feet over the next several days, as I waited for my load to come in. The evenings, with Wicklow smiling at me in the parlor, were as bad as the rest, for I tried to keep a
civil tongue in my head to him. I inquired solicitously for the safety of his jacket, and the health of Lady Hadley, keeping my wayward tongue between my teeth when he had the effrontery to tell me not only that Lady Hadley was fine, but that she was busy trying to arrange a match for her daughter.
When the Friday night that was to see the load landed finally arrived, I was on nettles, wanting to join my men. From ten o'clock onward I paced the room anxiously, though there would be no news for hours yet. I was with my gentlemen in my mind, while my body was forced to remain anchored at the rectory. It was ideal smuggling weather, in the winter, at the dark of the moon. My men must be cold on such a night as this. Stanley too would be cold, lurking in the shadows at the Eyrie, and Crites, creeping up behind him. At two, I had heard nothing from Jemmie and received no visit from Lady, so I assumed the plan had succeeded, and went to bed.
In the morning, I had several callers. The first was Officer Crites, in a high state of perturbation. He ought not to have told anyone his story by rights, but such news as he thought he had discovered really must be shared and discussed with someone. It is impossible to keep a huge, palpitating grievance totally to oneself, and the unfortunate man had not what you could call a friend in the whole village. I put on my most civil face to greet him.
"Officer, come in,” I invited cheerily, and took him inside to hear his tale of woe. “What happened last night? Did you catch Miss Sage and the smugglers?"
"No, they got away,” he confessed sheepishly. “They did not land it at the Eyrie, as you thought."
"When I heard in the village that Mr. Williams had been there, looking through the cellar, I made sure...” I let my voice dwindle off, hoping he would pick up and elaborate on the name mentioned.
"He was there,” he informed me, bloated with news. “Miss Anderson, he is not a smuggler at all. He is a special agent sent down from London by the Board of Trade, and not telling me!"
"What a shabby trick!” I answered at once, in a manner that (I hoped) combined ire and sympathy. “And what a strange way to set about things. Why, how should he hope to catch the gentlemen, without your help?"
"Exactly what I asked him myself. Why did he not make himself known to me? He was kind enough to say he wished to work in complete secrecy. He did not say so, but there is surely an imputation in that remark that he does not trust me."
"This is beyond anything! If he cannot trust a customs man, whom can he trust? You, who know all their tricks, could have been an inestimable help to him."
"He trusts no one, that fellow. Going behind my back to get that reward posted. They never would agree to a reward when I was in charge. Anyone could catch them with a huge reward to send all the townsfolk trotting to give you clues. But one of their own, you see. They all stick together. He is a baronet, Miss Anderson, and a colonel—was a colonel, but has sold out. It is all a great secret, I hardly need tell you, but I can always trust your discretion."
"You may be sure you can. I shan't tell a soul. But what happened? How did you discover all this?” I prodded gently, while my body felt like bursting out of its skin with curiosity.
"The most disastrous evening, Miss Anderson. I writhe to remember it. I went to the Eyrie at eleven, and after slipping about a bit through the trees and bushes, spotted him there. He had a hand telescope. They never issued me a telescope, and he was training it on the sea. When a lugger was spotted coming along, he moved up close to the house, and I thought he was getting set to signal it—thought he was Miss Sage, you see, telling it where to land. It was all as dark as could be, and the lugger hadn't any lights burning at all, which is a good sign it was a smuggling vessel, you know, for in the general way you would see a light or two moving about on board. So I crept up softly behind him, and knocked him out.
"I hit him a stout blow on the back of the head. He was out for ten minutes, and I had got him all bound up by the time he came to. Such a string of oaths as he swore off at me, I never heard the likes! Barracks talk, it does not bear repeating. Then he asked what had happened to the ship. How should I be able to watch the ship and himself at the same time? By the time I went down to the shore and had a look, there wasn't a sign of it, but it certainly did not land at the Eyrie. That I do know, and would swear an affidavit on it.
"So in effect he didn't know a thing more than I knew myself, in spite of his thousand pounds reward, and his fancy telescope. A dandy one it was, with silver mountings. You can see a mile with it. He says he bought it himself with his own money, but if he did, he is making a good deal more than I make, for I could not afford anything of the sort."
I surmised Wicklow had already called him to account for letting the ship get out of view while he concerned himself with one man, and said not a word of remonstrance in that regard, but only urged him on with his story by an encouraging nod and suitable feminine cluckings.
"Then he told me the cock-and-bull story—that is, I did not believe a tenth of it at the time as to who he is, and what he is doing here. It sounded like a ruse to get away from me, and I refused to untie him. Well, the upshot of it is that I took him into town, still tied, and we went along to Owens’ shop and he showed me documents and letters proving beyond a doubt that he is a special agent sent down from the Board of Trade to put a stop to Miss Sage. He had a report there on myself as well which I tried to get a look at, but he shuffled it under some other papers. He is giving me a bad character, of course, or he would not have been at pains to hide it from me. There will doubtlessly be inspectors down here asking questions about me. I hope I may count on you to put in a good word, ma'am, for you at least know how hard I have always worked at my job. The townsfolk all hate me, but you have been kind enough in the past to give me a hand upon occasion. A minister's sister and local schoolteacher must have a good deal of influence."
I assured him of my wholehearted support, then slipped in a question as to what had come of the ship. “We lost sight of it entirely while riding into town and looking over his documents. He lays it all in my dish, but if I believed that every stranger who told me he was an inspector was an inspector, where would we be? I'd never make a catch.” He never made one anyway, but this point was of course not raised.
It was time to proceed to point two. “You think the load that was aboard that lugger was landed, do you?” I asked.
"I expect it was, but it was not landed at the Eyrie."
"No, unless they went past it to fool the revenuemen, then doubled back. It would be strange, would it not, if it was landed there after all?"
"I cannot think it at all likely. I would suspect Lord Aiken's place, if it were not for the fact that the coffin landed there a while back did in fact have a plague victim in it. It was exhumed, you know. Williams’ work again. He thinks himself so clever, but the coffin did contain a corpse, for there is a skull and some remains which prove it. We will be lucky if we're not all infected, with having a plague victim's coffin opened and the remains probed. Who is to say a fire will kill all the germs? Much a city baronet and colonel cares if we are all killed with the black plague."
"It would certainly be a feather in your cap if you could find that load that landed last night,” I said, having some little difficulty keeping him on the track.
"I wish I could do it. It didn't land at the Eyrie. I'll have a look at Aiken's place, just in case, and run down to the school as well. I'll look into all the old regular spots. As sure as I'm sitting here, there are a hundred barrels of the stuff within walking distance. How I'd love to lay my hands on it. Williams has no more idea where it is than I have myself. Only his name is not Williams at all, actually. It is Wicklow. No one from the Board ever suggested I should change my name, use an alias."
"As you are a local man...” I said, keeping every jot of mirth out of my voice. I had decided on no firm plan for informing him (or Wicklow) of the load resting in Rose Marie's cellar. If they could not be led to it by indirection, Rose Marie could always “discover” it herself and tell them. She w
as to come to me that same morning to see if her services were required. I decided Crites would be the one to discover it. It would do his ego some good, and really I felt badly that he had fallen into such a muddle after I put him on to Williams. We went on to discuss the matter for some time, till Rose Marie arrived. When I heard the knocker sound, I went to have a few words with her privately in the hallway.
"I have decided. Crites is here. Tell him."
"How will I say I found it?"
"Say you heard some ruckus in the cellar late last night, and were too frightened to investigate till daylight. He'll be so overjoyed he won't ask many questions."
She trailed into the room, acting her chore with relish and a certain expertise. The performance that ensued was worthy of Siddons. “Officer Crites! The very person I was looking for!” she exclaimed, then ran forward and latched onto his sleeve in excitement. A nice, professional touch, that. “I have found it! I have won the reward!"
"What? Miss Lock, tell me at once!” Crites replied, grabbing her hands and giving a genuine show of rapture. “Where is it?"
"In my cellar at the Eyrie."
"No, it can't be."
"It is, I assure you. Dozens and dozens of barrels."
It took a deal of assuring, but after five minutes, Crites was confirmed in his belief that by some impossible means, the gentlemen had landed the stuff under his nose, without being seen. That was his interpretation. It did not occur to him for a moment that it had landed elsewhere and been moved. He had a one-track mind.
"We'll go at once and put it under guard,” he announced, with his old confidence restored.
"Who will you trust to watch it?” I asked, thinking he would include Williams in the victory.
It was soon clear that his plan was to conceal the find from Williams. He meant to get the senior officer down from Felixstone and put the matter in his charge, but first he had to go to the Eyrie and actually ascertain that the stuff was there. Then he would send a messenger to Felixstone and guard the load himself, with his life if necessary, till it could be carted off safely to the customs house at Felixstone. We had only an office here, not large enough to hold all the barrels.