by Deryn Lake
‘And how are you, my dear?’
‘Well, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I’ll call Kit.’
‘Is Edward here?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Then I would like to see him too.’
In response to Emily’s shout, the brothers came in together and the strange likeness between them, some times more visible than others, struck Dash quite forcibly. Yet, he thought, Edward had changed in some intangible manner and wondered whether his recent wounding and capture had affected him. There was something softer about him, a sleepiness about his eyes that had not been there before. Dash noticed that he was wearing a diamond in one of his ears.
‘Well,’ he said without preamble, ‘tell me everything.’
The brothers began to speak together and Dash motioned Edward to start first. It was perfectly obvious to all present, from that one gesture alone, who was the real leader of the Mayfield gang of free-traders.
‘I went to stay at West Chiltington with friends and Rogers must have got on to it somehow, for during the night he surrounded the house and the next morning shot and arrested me.’
‘And Mr Lindfield played his part?’
‘As you made sure he would, Dash.’
The leader smiled and said, ‘I hear you made your escape disguised as a woman, Edward.’
The smuggler coloured a little. ‘My friend’s sister Mary, who lives nearby, lent me some clothes.’
‘And she also testified that Rogers had agreed to drop charges in return for a bribe?’
Kit spoke. ‘Your plan to discredit Rogers and Jekyll is working superbly. You have excelled yourself, Dash.’
Dash cleared his throat and crossed one silk-clad knee over the other. ‘But that won’t last indefinitely, gentlemen. Mr Lindfield has already been reprimanded for letting you go free, Edward; he has also had a warning about releasing Francis Hammond and his cronies. Despite everything, I believe that if either of you are caught again you will be sent for trial.’
Kit said, ‘Well, that hasn’t happened yet,’ but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.
‘You must be very careful,’ Dash went on severely. ‘I don’t want either of you to do a run for a month, is that clear? Don’t make the mistake — as I have told you so many times before — of underestimating Jekyll and Rogers, or the Jarretts either. It has become a matter of personal pride with all of them now to see you both dead or transported. So lie low, d’you hear?’
Shuffling their feet and looking gloomy, the Jarvises muttered agreement.
‘And by the way, Edward,’ said Dash, as he stood up to take his leave. ‘No more visits to your little friend in West Chiltington for a while.’
Kit grinned. ‘Oh come now, Dash. If Edward wants to visit Mary Dinnage secretly surely you won’t stop him.’
‘I am not referring to Mary,’ said Dash coldly, framed in the doorway. ‘I am speaking about her brother John. Good evening, gentlemen.’
He stepped outside but not before he had caught a glimpse of Kit turning to Edward with an expression like thunder upon his face.
*
As Dash left the palace by his own secret exit so Henrietta, too, stole out into the lengthening shadows and made her way on foot, not daring to attract attention by taking a horse, to the gates. Here she passed rapidly through and turning left hurried to the track known as Fletching Street. Nicholas had told her to wait for him in the private room of the alehouse called the Carpenter’s Arms. Feeling both conspicuous and embarrassed beneath the landlord’s knowing gaze, Henrietta hurried up the small back staircase and into the dingy room, where her relief on seeing Lieutenant Grey was so great that she hurried straight into his open arms.
Eventually Henrietta said, ‘Is Challice coming here?’ and Nicholas answered, ‘No, he daren’t risk being seen. There’s a price on his head. I am to take you to him at Coggins Mill.’
‘Is he lodging with Lizzie Pearce?’
Nicholas looked a little grim. ‘Yes, but only because he cannot hazard going anywhere else.’
‘I thought she was treacherous.’
‘She is, but he has bribed her well enough to hold her tongue.’
‘The sooner he is away from there the better.’
‘And you are still certain you want to go with him, sweetheart?’ said Nicholas, taking Henrietta in his arms again.
‘How can you ask? You know I love him. Surely you would not come between us?’
Nicholas held her away from him. ‘I could not do that. You see I love him too.’
*
In the stuffy little room beneath the eaves, Jacob Challice sat in the moonlight with Henrietta Trevor, and realised at last why they could never part, what it was that had drawn them together from the very start.
‘Fate has been too strong for us,’ he said. ‘We can never escape each other.’
‘Do you want to escape?’ she answered quietly. ‘Now that I am to bear your child?’
He drew her to him closely. ‘I used the wrong word. I meant that our lives, our souls, are inextricably woven. We will always be together.’
‘But what of Nicholas? He has also been with us. Are we to leave him now?’
‘No, he is to stay with us. There will be no future for him now that he has helped a criminal to escape.’
‘But where shall we go? What can we do?’
‘We must make for Deal and pick up a ship bound for the American Colonies. They are anxious for settlers. We can start a new life there and the child can be born in peace and safety.’
Henrietta was silent and Challice kissed her gently. ‘The idea frightens you, doesn’t it?’
‘No, I am not afraid. It is just the thought of saying goodbye to this forever. Of giving up Glynde Place and Sussex and lovely England for an unknown country.’
‘But I will be with you — and Nicholas.’
‘As you always have.’
They looked at each other and smiled and just for a moment seemed to see three boys laughing on the sands as their horses raced towards the sun.
‘To the past,’ said Henrietta, ‘and all its wonderment.’
‘To the future,’ answered Jacob, ‘and everything that lies ahead.’
*
The hammering on the door of Stream Farm during the hour before dawn sent a thrill of unease through Kit Jarvis as he lurched awake. There was something about this persistent banging that seemed to bode no good. Jumping out of bed and pulling on his breeches, he went downstairs. Then, as he snatched open the door, Kit realised what a fanciful fool he had been, for the figure that stood there was only that of a small boy, barefoot and ragged, and panting with exhaustion.
‘What is it child?’ he said. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Burwash, Sir,’ gasped the urchin. ‘I live in the cottage next to your mother. She’s very ill, Mr Jarvis. You must come at once.’
‘Christ’s blood, I knew something was wrong.’ He opened the door properly. ‘You’d better come in while I dress and fetch my brother. What’s the matter with her?’
‘I don’t know, Sir. But my Ma be afeared she might be dying.’
‘God’s wounds!’ said Kit, shouting up the stairs, ‘Emmy, Ted, get up. Mother’s ill and we must go to her now.’ There was no response and he bellowed even louder, ‘Wake up for the love of Heaven.’
There was the sound of plodding footsteps and a moment or two later Emily appeared, clad in her shift and yawning. ‘What’s amiss, Kit?’
‘This boy has just ridden from Burwash. He says that Mother’s dying. Get dressed, Emmy. I’ll wake Ted.’
‘He isn’t there,’ Emily answered flatly. ‘I looked in his room on my way downstairs. His bed hasn’t been slept in.’
‘God’s teeth,’ swore Kit violently. ‘So the little bastard’s crept out. Can’t keep away from his pretty flip-flap I suppose. I’ll string him up.’
‘Kit!’ Emily shouted. ‘Remember the child. Go and get dressed.’
She hurried up th
e stairs with Jarvis close behind her and ten minutes later they were mounted, the boy sitting in front of the smuggler, leaving the poor old nag who had carried him from Burwash to rest her bones.
The little convoy climbed the track beneath Wenbans and went on the high ridge towards Mayfield, passing through dense trees in order to do so. But no sooner had they emerged than the copse seemed to come to life. Branches were parted as narrowed eyes peered out, there was a glimpse of uniform and the jangle of spurs.
‘Right lads,’ said Lieutenant Jekyll. ‘The bastard’s going to walk right into it. The other route to Burwash — and quickly. If any lag behind, we’ll meet in the wood behind old Mother Thomkins’ house. Understood?’
There was a murmur of assent and Jekyll turned to Rogers with a grin. ‘I think this time we’ve got him,’ he said.
‘By God, I hope you’re right,’ answered the other, as the cavalcade started off.
*
Nicholas Grey was ashamed of himself. He had been so utterly, totally, hopelessly inebriated that he had fallen down in the roadway and then vomited like a child, over and over again with no control. Then he had crawled away and slept beneath a tree until morning, his head spinning as he closed his eyes.
He had been reasonably drunk when he had escorted Henrietta back to the palace and helped her climb in through a downstairs window. But having left her and knowing that he had no further responsibilities that night, Nicholas had returned to the Carpenter’s Arms and gone a little mad, pouring ale down his throat as if it were going out of supply.
He had never been more miserable in his life, loving two people so much that he could never bear to be parted from them, yet dreading the prospect that lay before him. He could just imagine his future as the permanent bachelor friend of their growing family, being called ‘Uncle’ by Henrietta’s children, living close by, yet breaking his heart with loneliness every time he returned to the solitude of an empty house. Then, of course, would come the added torment of Henrietta trying to persuade him to marry some worthy young woman and start a family of his own, when all he would want would be to take his friend’s wife into his arms, into his bed, into his life, and love her till he died.
The easy answer was, very simply, that he should let the lovers go and stay in England to face the consequences. For Nicholas felt quite convinced that Lieutenant Jekyll’s cold crystal gaze would soon see through the fact that Lieutenant Grey had assisted a wanted criminal to escape, and place the miscreant on a charge. Then would come a trial, and imprisonment, or even transportation. Whatever decision he made, Nicholas had thought, gulping yet another pint of ale, the future looked bleak.
The drink had helped a little, blurring everything, making him jolly for half an hour. But then had come the shambling gait, the slurring words, the sickness, and finally the cramped and uncomfortable sleep beneath a tree, only to wake with a pounding head and fireballs for eyes. Watching the sky suddenly drench pink, Nicholas felt ready to weep again at a new day’s dawning, wishing that he had been born as Henrietta’s brother and that this cruel jealous situation had never arisen.
Suddenly tired of thinking about it all, Nicholas stood up and went to where his horse stood tethered outside the alehouse, its eyes closed in sleep.
‘Come on, old friend,’ he said. ‘I must go back to Sharnden and tidy myself up. Will you take me?’
The horse woke up and whinnied knowingly, or so it seemed to its owner. Then moving very carefully so as not to strain his aching head, Nicholas mounted and set off at walking pace.
As always when a fine day was in store, the valley lay like a lake of mist, the tops of trees islands, the isolated branches spars of long-drowned ships. As Nicholas plunged down towards the hamlet of Coggins Mill, wondering if Jacob was up and about, the vapour closed all around him and, suddenly, he could see little more than a yard or two in front of him.
The smithy, when he came to it, gave him a shock, for he had not realised that he had wandered off the track. Yet he must have done so, for even though he was not native to the village he knew that there was no forge at the place he imagined himself to be. A smith was working within too, an odd-looking fellow dressed like a monk of long ago.
Nicholas hesitated, wondering whether to call a greeting or pass quietly by in the fog. But, as if he sensed a presence behind him, the smith turned abruptly and looked straight over to where the lieutenant stood. Nicholas saw brilliant, gleaming eyes that blazed a great wild anthem of light.
With a cry of terror, Nicholas hid his face in his hands, not daring to gaze any more at something so immense. When he lowered them again the forge had gone, vanished into the mist from whence it came. The lieutenant could not help himself — he wept. Not only with fear but also with the impact of the extraordinary vision at which he had been allowed for a moment to gaze.
*
The mists cleared, the sun came up, and through the burning heat of an afternoon in a dusty Sussex village, a raggle-taggle procession came riding. At its head, like conquering heroes returned from the war, came Lieutenant Jekyll and Revenue Man Rogers, behind them a troop of Grenadiers, in their midst a cart bearing one solitary prisoner, heavily manacled. Kit Jarvis was being brought back to his patch in the full shame of public humiliation.
As the cavalcade started the climb up Fletching Street and then down Mayfield’s central course, windows opened and people ran out of their houses, dogs barked and babies cried and a great shout went up. ‘It’s Kit Jarvis, they’ve got Kit Jarvis.’ But he just stood there with his head bowed, his wild blue eyes bent to the floor of the cart. The lawless hero of the people would not look at his subjects on the day he was brought back humbled.
They took him to the Barracks, the old house in Fir Toll where the soldiers were stationed, gave him bread and water for his meal, and locked him in a room with Lieutenant Jekyll and three Grenadiers, who changed watch every hour. Kit was given straw to sleep on and a chamberpot for his relief, but he had to be assisted with that for, on Lieutenant Jekyll’s strict instructions, not for one moment were the chains to be struck from his wrists.
It was a terrible kind of triumph and, hearing the commotion from the street just as the Baker family sat down to dine, the old squire sent a servant to find out what was afoot. The man returned with the extraordinary news that Kit was taken and the curmudgeon let out a bellow of triumph.
‘So they’ve got him at last! Let’s hope that this time those crooked Horsham magistrates will send him down.’
‘Hush, Father ...’ started Lucy, only to be drowned by the old man letting out a series of prolonged war-whoops.
After that there was a moment of pandemonium, during which Thomas raised his glass and said in a loud voice, ‘Here’s to justice and the downfall of those who evade it. What say you all?’
George cried, ‘Hear, hear,’ and raised his glass, and Philadelphia giggled alarmingly as Nizel, better dressed than Henrietta had ever seen him before, downed his wine in a gulp. Lucy on the other hand did not drink, being too busy fussing over her father who had turned an extraordinary shade of purple. Henrietta, thinking she would be toasting the downfall of Jacob Challice, pretended to sip but really took no wine at all.
The meal subsided into more regular behaviour, George saying, ‘Lindfield won’t let Jarvis go this time. He was reprimanded over the last incident, you know.’
To this, Thomas answered, ‘Lindfield is a law unto himself. He’ll do what he thinks best.’
Going very red, Nizel put in, ‘You mean what he’s told best, surely?’
Violently nodding agreement to this last remark, old Squire Baker attempted to speak but choked on his mouthful of food and went an even more vivid shade.
‘I do believe,’ said Lucy, standing up, ‘that Father should lie down and the ladies withdraw. Henrietta, Philadelphia, will you join me?’
So with the aid of two footmen she gallantly steered the protesting old man away and there was a sudden silence. Into it George said fi
rmly to the remaining servant, ‘Port and chamberpots, please. I feel an urgent need of both.’
Mopping their brows almost simultaneously, his two brothers emphatically added their sentiments to his.
*
As soon as he decently could, Dash left the palace by his private route and took the horse that always awaited him at the Royal Oak. As he rode through the dusk in the direction of Snape Wood he muttered, ‘If that bastard Ted Jarvis is not about I shall make it my personal business to shoot him. Kit has got to escape trial. There is too much at stake should he stand. The trouble with our free-trading friend is that he knows too much.’
His face took on a look of grim determination as he forded the stream that ran almost at the farm’s foot, dismounted, and began banging upon the door in one movement, his fist crunching onto the wood as if the Devil himself were calling up one of his disciples.
‘Jarvis, you bastard,’ he shrieked. ‘Where are you? Show yourself. Your brother’s as good as hanged and I cannot get him free on my own. Unless you help me he is a dead man.’
The voice behind him made Dash wheel in fright. ‘I’m here,’ it said quietly.
Dash turned to see Edward standing by the stream, absolutely miserable. Tears ran down his cheeks and his shoulders heaved with sobbing.
‘Christ’s body, man,’ Dash said impatiently. ‘There’s no need for that yet. Kit may be in danger but he’s a long way from his box.’
‘It’s not that, it’s not that,’ answered the smuggler in muffled tones.
‘Then I’ll take a guess. You’ve been betrayed by your lover.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Because he’s in the pay of Jekyll. I checked up on Dido after you were captured in his house. How much have you told him, Edward?’
‘Nothing, nothing.’
A wiry hand shot out and grabbed Edward’s wrist in a vice as Dash said, ‘Know one thing Jarvis, if the Mayfield gang survives this catastrophe you will never work with them again. You are finished. We cannot afford those whose foolish talk between the sheets could endanger the lives of others. Now go to and let me in. There’s work to be done if your brother is to fight another day.’