The Body on the Doorstep

by MacKenzie, AJ

  Ten minutes later Eliza Fanscombe descended the stairs, dressed in an ordinary gown but looking white and drawn. The bruises on her cheek and around her eye were almost black against the pallor of her skin. But her chin was up, and she attempted bravado.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Fetch your coat and bonnet, and come with me. I am returning you to Mrs Chaytor’s house.’

  ‘No! I do not wish to go!’

  ‘Miss Fanscombe,’ he said, not caring that the servants were listening, ‘you have two choices. You can suffer arrest for aiding and abetting smugglers, see your reputation ruined for ever, and go to prison. Or you can come with me, now.’

  He had not lost the power of command. She did as he bid, mute, and he turned to the servants. ‘You will not see the master of this house again. Lock the door and keep all within secure. The king’s men will arrive within the next few days. When they do, you are to admit them without delay.’

  They bowed or curtseyed, more frightened than ever. He took the girl’s arm and half-dragged her out of the house and down the drive. ‘You little fool!’ he said. ‘You are already in this business up to your neck. What did you think you were doing last night? If you had been caught out there on the Marsh, it would be all over for you.’

  ‘I have done nothing wrong! Let me go! You cannot prove anything against me.’

  ‘I do not have to,’ he said brutally. ‘I mentioned two choices. There is a third. I will tell Foucarmont that you betrayed the plot to Juddery’s men, and even joined him in breaking up the ambush on the Marsh. What do you think he will do to your pretty face then?’

  She stared at him in silent horror. When he took her arm again she was unresisting. ‘You are not a witless child,’ he said. ‘You are a grown woman. It is time you began to act as one.’

  They halted at the door of Mrs Chaytor’s house, and by this time the enormity of what she had done was sinking in. Her spirit was broken. ‘In a day or two,’ he said, ‘a king’s officer will come and ask you questions. You will tell him everything about your connection with Foucarmont and the messages you carried for him. You need not tell the officer that Foucarmont was your lover, and you need not tell him about your visits to the Marsh during the runs; these things have nothing to do with the case. But you will tell everything else. I shall be present during the inquiry, to ensure that you do tell the truth. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘Good. Now, go inside and find your stepmother, and make your peace with her. She is, if only you realised it, your best friend. The two of you will need each other very greatly, Eliza, and very soon.’

  *

  The rector rushed home to a hasty ham and eggs, closing his ears while the housekeeper scolded him for eating too quickly, and then hurried across the road to the church and into the vestry to robe. He preached as well as usual, though Miss Godfrey did remark to Miss Roper that the reverend seemed a little distracted this morning, and wasn’t his throat a bit scratchy? It was to be hoped that the poor man was not coming down with a cold. In fact, the rector performed much of the service by rote, barely hearing his own words. His mind was still full of wavering blue light, in which shadowy figures wrestled and clubbed and hacked and shot at each other, shouting and screaming.

  At the end of the service he stood in the church porch and thanked his parishioners with a warm smile as they departed. Returning to the vestry he hung up his robe and came out into the fair, warm late morning sun and, still stiff and sore, walked down the quiet village street to the Star. He was in search of medication for his pains, but he also had another purpose in mind. Over the past couple of weeks the rector had devoted part of his time to considering the identity of the female informer who kept watch for the Twelve Apostles in St Mary in the Marsh. He had had his suspicions all along, but over the past few days the suspicions had hardened into certainty.

  He reached the Star and stepped under the low doorway into the common room. It was still early, and he was the only one there. Bessie Luckhurst came out from the back, wiping her hands on her apron and looking bright and neat as usual. ‘What will you have, Reverend?’

  ‘A mug of strong, Bessie, there’s a good lass.’ She filled a tankard and passed it across to him. He drained it a single draught, feeling the warmth spreading from his belly through his body. In his imagination, the pain was already easing. He lowered the empty tankard and sighed with pleasure.

  ‘Another, Reverend?’ she said laughing.

  ‘If you please. And Bessie; when you’ve filled it, there’s something else you may do for me.’

  She nodded brightly, setting the foaming tankard in front of him. He slid a coin across the counter, and looked her straight in the eye and said quietly, ‘Tell Peter I need to see him. As soon as possible, if you please.’

  *

  When he had finished his beer he asked the somewhat subdued Bessie for directions to Cornewall’s room, and climbed stiffly up the stairs and knocked at the door. A sharp voice said that the occupant did not wish to be disturbed. Hardcastle opened the door anyway and passed inside, closing the door and locking it behind him.

  Cornewall had been writing letters at a desk before the window, but now he stood up. ‘You! How dare you come here and interrupt me? What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘I wanted a quiet word,’ said Hardcastle equably. ‘I should sit down if I were you, Dean. I have some nasty shocks for you.’

  Slowly, suspiciously, Cornewall sat. Hardcastle remained standing, leaning on the doorframe. ‘I have just had a very interesting night,’ said the rector. ‘I participated, quite unwillingly, in a smuggler’s run. It was fascinating. But nothing on the run was quite so fascinating as what I learned beforehand. You’ll recall that, when last we spoke, I accused you of being involved in smuggling yourself. I admit to you now that I didn’t make the accusation with any serious intent. We were both angry, and I was looking for mud to throw at you.’

  ‘Good. Then you have come to offer an apology,’ the dean said stiffly. ‘Once I have heard it, I will consider whether to accept it.’

  ‘Oh, don’t get your hopes up, my dear Dean. You see, after our meeting I gave the matter more thought. It struck me as curious how you, like a carrion bird, arrived on the scene in St Mary so quickly after the first bodies were found. And thereafter, whenever we reached a point of crisis, such as the third killing or the news that another run was about to take place, you again appeared promptly on the scene. Your explanation, of course, was that you were safeguarding the interests of the Church, but that never rang true. What interest can the Church possibly have in any of this?’

  ‘You will not drag the Church into this!’ shouted the outraged clergyman.

  ‘No, I will not. In fact, the Church has no interest at all. You, on the other hand, do. According to a deeply interesting conversation that I overheard last night, quite a lot of the cargo run in by the men from New Romney and St Mary was destined for various church buildings around the Marsh and upcountry. The goods would be stored there, no questions asked, until transported to London. And you, Dean, would receive a handsome fee for making these buildings available.’

  A better liar would have had a story ready. The dean simply gabbled incoherently until the rector silenced him. ‘Enough. When this affair is over, Dean, I strongly advise you to leave Canterbury. Go into the West Country. Herefordshire, perhaps,’ he added with malice. ‘Nothing ever happens there.’

  There was a final attempt at bluster. ‘Or else? What will you do?’

  ‘Lay a dossier detailing your activities before Lord Clavertye,’ said Hardcastle. ‘He arrives tomorrow, to begin a detailed inquiry into a case of murder, conspiracy and treason. You have associations with men who are deeply involved in this case. If you truly care about the reputation of the Church, Cornewall, then there is only one choice open to you. Depart for Canterbury within the hour and, once there, draft a letter asking His Grace asking his permiss
ion to lay down your office and retire to another part of the kindgom.’

  The dean sat silent, and Hardcastle saw in his face that he was broken. Quietly, without any sense of triumph, he let himself out and limped back downstairs.

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  5th June, 1796.

  Mr Blunt,

  It is urgent that I speak with you as soon as possible. I have information of great importance to convey to you, concerning the attack made upon you by Mr Juddery and the Excise men last night. You will doubtless be seeking an explanation for his behaviour; I can provide it.

  It is also possible that I may be able to help you in your search for the object you were seeking out on the Marsh.

  Please meet me in the church of St Mary the Virgin at three of the clock in the afternoon, tomorrow, the 6th of June.

  Yr very obedient servant

  HARDCASTLE

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  5th June, 1796.

  My dear Fanscombe,

  I understand that you are away from home at the moment, but I hope your servants will be able to forward this letter without delay. As you will doubtless have heard, there was another affray on the Marsh last night, between smugglers and Preventive men. The Twelve Apostles, the group I mentioned earlier, were also involved.

  I am sorry also to report that your daughter was present both during the run and the subsequent affray. I am able to assure you that Eliza has been foolish, but no more; but it is clear that she was seen by many people, and tongues will soon begin to wag. I would like to assist you and your family, but we must act quickly if we are to prevent a scandal that will engulf you all.

  Will you please meet me in the church of St Mary the Virgin at three of the clock in the afternoon, tomorrow, 6th June? We can be assured of privacy there.

  Yr very obedient servant

  HARDCASTLE

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  5th June, 1796.

  M. de Foucarmont,

  I need to speak to you most urgently about the Twelve Apostles. I believe your men tried to apprehend these traitors on the Marsh last night, and did not succeed. However, information has come into my possession that will allow you to lay them by the heels.

  We need to meet, preferrably somewhere quiet and private. I suggest you meet me in the church of St Mary the Virgin at three of the clock in the afternoon, tomorrow, 6th June.

  Yr very obedient servant

  HARDCASTLE

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  5th June, 1796.

  My dear Dr Morley,

  You will doubtless have heard the news of the violent affray last night on the Marsh. The smuggling gang known as the Twelve Apostles were ambushed by Blunt’s men east of Lydd, and there was a great fight between them. This affair grows very serious, and I believe it is time that it was dealt with, once and for all.

  I have invited a number of those involved in this matter to meet with me at St Mary the Virgin tomorrow, 6th June, at three in the afternoon. You have been involved in this matter to some extent, and will be able to provide testimony. Also, it would be very useful to have you present as a witness.

  I do hope you will be able to join us,

  Yr very obedient servant

  HARDCASTLE

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  5th June, 1796.

  My dear Turner,

  Matters have come to a head, slightly sooner than expected. I promised you a full explanation. If you come to St Mary the Virgin at three of the clock tomorrow afternoon, you shall receive one. I would also be very grateful for your presence as a witness.

  Yr very obedient servant

  HARDCASTLE

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  5th June, 1796.

  My dear Captain Shaw,

  You will have heard of last night’s affray on the Marsh. I assume also that your suspicions will have quickened, and you are wondering if this affair and the events of last month are connected. You are absolutely right; they are. The smuggling gang known as the Twelve Apostles were ambushed by Blunt and his men, who were seeking to find a certain dispatch case full of secret papers from France. They failed in their quest, but they will shortly be aware that I know of their plot, and where the dispatch case is.

  I have invited the chief conspirators to meet me at the church of St Mary the Virgin at three of the clock in the afternoon tomorrow. I would be grateful if you would join us. Your assistance in apprehending these men will be greatly appreciated; by myself and, no doubt, by Lord Clavertye.

  Yr very obedient servant

  HARDCASTLE

  Evening, with the sun low over the line of hills to the west. Doves cooed in the churchyard trees, and he could hear sheep bleating in the distance. The rector sat in one of the box pews and stared at the altar, gleaming dimly among the shadows in the chancel, and waited.

  Behind him, the door opened quietly and then closed. Soft footsteps sounded and then a man was standing beside him, a big man, strong and heavily built with fair hair and a hard face with a square chin and jaw. He could have been a prizefighter. He could easily also, the rector thought a little sadly, have been myself in my younger days.

  ‘Sit down,’ Hardcastle said quietly.

  The other man opened the door of the pew and sat, and the rector studied him for a few moments. It was the first time he had seen the other man’s face full-on and unmasked; at Ebony, he had seen only his profile, from a distance.

  ‘You sent for me,’ said Peter who was also called George.

  ‘Yes. I wanted you to have something. I am sorry for the urgent summons, but it is only a matter of time before Blunt and his confederates work out what has happened and come to search my house again. You will agree, I think, that this is worth the risk of my calling you out here.’

  He handed over the leather satchel. The other man frowned, then reached through the slit leather and took out the papers. He glanced through them, turning the pages quickly and in silence. Then he looked up.

  ‘I take it you have read these yourself.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And you know what they are?’

  ‘They are papers from the French War Office,’ said the rector, ‘written over the hand of Lazare Carnot, the Minister of War. They are instructions to General Moreau of the Army of the Rhine and General Bonaparte of the Army of Italy, laying out plans for the invasion of south Germany and northern Italy, and the destruction of the Austrian field armies. The aim is to knock Austria out of the war by the end of the year.’

  He paused. ‘It means that French attention has turned east. There will be no invasion of Britain, at least not this year.’

  ‘No. And we will pass these plans to the Austrians, and then help them halt the French and throw them back. If we are successful, there may not be any invasion, ever. If the French armies fail in the field, that could be the blow that brings down the Republic.’ Peter looked at the rector, his eyes searching. ‘I must ask how you came by these papers.’

  ‘I was there, last night.’ The rector told the story, from the time someone tried to kill him in New Romney to Juddery’s attack on Blunt and his own part in that. ‘I collapsed on top of the dispatch bag by pure chance. I fear the body may have been one of your own men.’

  ‘Philip.’ The other man’s face was sombre. ‘He was carrying the dispatch bag. I lost two good men last night, Philip and Bartholomew, and three more hurt.’

  He stopped, and the rector said, ‘When did you realise the bag was missing?’

  ‘Not for a couple of hours. Those of us still on our feet got out of the melee any way we could and made our way individually to the rendezvous point. I was the last one in; I found the others waiting at Ebony, but no sign of Philip or the dispatches. You can imagine our feelings pretty well, I think.’

  ‘It was a terrible blow to your hopes.’

  ‘That puts it mildly.
We did not know what was in the papers, of course, but we had been warned that they were important. We knew too that the French were aware the papers had been stolen – another of our men died getting them out of Paris – and were hot on the trail, but we thought we had given them the slip in France. Once we landed in England, we thought we were almost home. Then came the ambush, and the shipwreck of our hopes.’

  He put the papers back in the case, and looked up. ‘But thanks to you, my friend, we have won through after all. I am very grateful to you, Reverend.’ His face was suddenly rueful. ‘And I am afraid that this is probably all the thanks you will ever get. As you can imagine, this whole matter is under the rose. Officially, it never happened.’

  The rector nodded. ‘I understand. If you want to thank me, then answer a question for me. Who are you?’

  The other man paused for a long time, looking at the evening light shining in long shafts through the church windows. ‘I reckon you deserve to know,’ he said finally. ‘My name is George Maskelyne, and I’m a gentleman, of sorts. I am leader of the Twelve Apostles, of course, but I also work with another group in government service. The chief of that group reports directly to the prime minister.’

  ‘I had guessed that much.’

  Maskelyne nodded. ‘I won’t tell you about the others,’ he said, ‘for it is best that you do not know. I’ll tell you a little about the Twelve Apostles, in case you run across their track again.’ He talked for several minutes, the rector listening intently. ‘So,’ said Maskelyne at the end, ‘we follow the paths of darkness, but we are on the side of the light. As least, we try to be.’

  ‘I understand,’ said the rector again. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Rejoin my men, and then get these papers to London with all speed. After that, you may not see me for quite a while, if ever. I’m needed out in Italy. I should be there already, but I stayed to look after this affair.’