Devil to Pay

by C. Northcote Parkinson

  “We have no Assembly rooms,” Mr Withers was saying, “But the first floor of the Market House answers the purpose very well. The far end is screened off for the card-players and there is a platform for the musicians.” Indeed the place was a scene of festivity. The curved steps which led up to the main doors were well lighted and there was a great bustle as the gentlefolk arrived. Urchins were earning pennies by opening carriage doors and bystanders were holding horses while the ladies alighted. Most of the town gentry arrived on foot like the Withers’ party and such carriages as there were served the better to emphasise the consequence of their owners. From inside, as they ascended the steps, came the sound of music, suggestive of festivity and romance.

  After cloaks had been shed and the room admired, the Withers introduced Delancey to a number of their friends. Some, like Mrs Rogers, moved at once towards the card-room. Delancey might have joined them but dared not, for fear of missing Captain Molyneux. He attached himself to a Mrs Hardcastle, a widow, whose sole concern was to watch over her young daughter for whom this ball was her very first. Delancey sat with this lady while Arabella danced and so had to listen to a mother’s commentary on her child’s popularity and appearance. “She is in very good looks tonight, don’t you think? That blue gown suits her well and everyone must allow that she dances to perfection. The young man she is dancing with is Mr Samuels, junior partner in one of the merchant houses—one in a rather small way of business. He is rather plain too, though very well mannered, I daresay. You will see the difference, Mr Delancey, when she dances with Ensign Wadsworth, who holds a commission in the Yeomanry—a very fine young officer, almost elegant one might say and heir to a very pretty estate. Ah, the air now being played is one of Arabella’s favourites. She is smiling you can see, and telling her partner that the air is one she likes. I have forgotten its name but I have heard her speak of it on many occasions. She is, I always say, a natural dancer. . . .”

  This monologue left Delancey with the easy role of agreeing absent-mindedly from time to time while watching the new arrivals. He felt that he was excused from dancing—of which he had much to learn— by the fact that he was providing company for Mrs Hardcastle. It is true that she could as easily have addressed her remarks to the lady sitting on the other side of her. That would have compelled her, however, to take her turn and listen to the other lady’s comments on her own two daughters; which could reasonably have taken twice as long. Things were better as they were and Delancey ended with an enviably complete knowledge of Arabella’s wardrobe and hair-style, her musical preferences and personal dislikes. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a young officer in cavalry uniform. “This,” he said to himself, “is Captain Molyneux.” This guess was quickly confirmed by Mrs Hardcastle who added that the captain was a very genteel young man, the younger son (she had been told) of a baronet and just the sort of dance partner that Arabella preferred. The uniform, she pointed out, did much to add to the elegance of his figure—did not Delancey agree?—although, she added belatedly, a naval uniform looked well, too; in, of course, a quieter style. She was sure that Captain Molyneux would ask Arabella to dance, and Mr Delancey would see then how well they suited each other.

  Suit each other they might but Molyneux’s first partner was not Arabella but Louisa Hill, who must have arrived at the same time. When the country dances ended Molyneux went to fetch some refreshment for Miss Hill. Excusing himself, Delancey went over to her and reminded her that they were already acquainted. After a few minutes of polite conversation he asked whether Mr Early was expected. “My uncle will be here later, I believe, Mr Delancey, but you won’t see him on the floor. He’s only interested in cards.”

  When Captain Molyneux returned, Louisa introduced him to Delancey with some pretty hesitation as to which was the senior. At that moment she was distracted by Mr Wadsworth asking her to dance and Delancey was able to ask Molyneux whether he could have a word with him in private. He explained quickly and quietly that he wanted help against a gang of smugglers. Where could they meet without being overheard?

  “In ten minutes time at the Angel—on your right as you leave the ballroom.” Saying this in a hurried whisper, Molyneux went on more loudly: “A pleasant occasion this, very. Some devilish pretty girls around, eh? Have you met Miss Hardcastle?”

  They parted a minute or two later, moving in opposite directions, and Delancey brought a glass of negus to Mrs Hardcastle and then chatted with the Withers. He slipped out unnoticed when the dancing began again.

  Over a glass of wine, Delancey explained the position to Molyneux. For a baronet’s son the cavalryman was surprisingly businesslike. “Let’s agree first on how we share what we capture. If the lugger is taken at sea, will you give us a quarter of the value of the cargo?”

  “Agreed,” said Delancey, “but if you find the cargo on the beach or inland, you should give us half. Remember, it is I who am providing the intelligence on which we act.”

  “I suppose that is fair,” sighed Molyneux. “What about the lugger herself?”

  “We’ll give you a quarter if she falls to us and will accept a quarter if she falls to you—which is not very probable.”

  “Agreed—and I drink to our success! The fact is that I have been unlucky of late at cards. I am deucedly short of money and that’s the truth. So you want me at Studland Bay on the night of the fourth, in two days’ time?”

  “The night after next, between midnight and four.”

  “Will one troop of dragoons be enough?”

  “Quite enough. I don’t suppose they will fight. The crew of the lugger number about twenty but only half of them will go ashore. The cargo handlers on land will number about 24, with as many pack-horses. That is no more than a guess.”

  “Ah! Will you agree that the pack-horses are ours?”

  “Less a quarter—as with the lugger.”

  “Very well. You drive a hard bargain, though!”

  “I too have been unlucky.”

  “Let’s hope for better luck this time. Now I’ll tell you what I mean to do. I’ve a troop of horse quartered at Wareham, about fifteen miles from Studland. It’s rather under strength, with some horses lame, but I think that we can ride with about 22 in all.”

  “That should be quite sufficient. All depends, however, on our secrecy. I am letting it be known that the run is expected at Lulworth Cove. Would you be good enough to drop some hint of that to Miss Louisa Hill—in the strictest confidence?”

  “Why Louisa?”

  “She might mention it to her friends.”

  “Why not Cathy Neave in that case? She would tell everyone in the room.”

  “Then our plan would fail.”

  “Because the rumour would seem to have been planted? I see what you mean. Very well, then—a hint to Louisa but to nobody else. You seem to be a good hand at this sort of plot, Mr Delancey.”

  “If I might make the suggestion, you might consider leaving Wareham by the road which leads to Lulworth. . . .”

  “That’s a deuced clever notion. You mean through East Holme? It would add three miles to the distance but it might be worthwhile. I’ll think it over. And now I think we should return to the ballroom before people begin to wonder about us.”

  The ball continued and Molyneux danced with Louisa. Delancey later did the same but the dance was new to him and the girl was glad to sit down again.

  “I think, sir,” she laughed, “that you are more used to the quarterdeck!” Delancey made his apologies, confessing that he had never been able to learn the steps.

  “Never mind,” she replied, “you’ll know better what steps to take at Lulworth.” These last words were uttered behind her fan as from one conspirator to another but Delancey merely looked bewildered. He had never so much as heard of the place. Was it the home, he asked, of some young lady—one he was expected to know? He begged Louisa to remember that he was almost a stranger in Dorset. She might have said something more but at that moment she caught sig
ht of some new arrivals and exclaimed, “And here, at last, is my Uncle John! Come and meet him, Mr Delancey. He is a justice of the peace, you know, and quite as interested in smuggling as you can be!”

  Delancey allowed himself to be led across the floor and presented to John Early. He was surprised to find him so little like a criminal in appearance. If he had once been an attorney, as Delancey had been told, he had lost all trace of professional character. He was tall, florid and elderly, very much the county magnate and just such a squire as might preside at any Petty Sessions. He looked Delancey over with benign patronage and asked him presently whether he played whist.

  “Only for low stakes, sir.”

  “You must join me then for a friendly game after supper.”

  Delancey was uncertain whether this was more than a polite gesture but it was renewed after supper and Delancey found himself being introduced to Colonel Garland and the Reverend George Tory. All agreed to play for merely nominal stakes and the game began.

  Delancey had been planning his tactics while he was at supper. His cue, he had decided, was to appear slightly drunk. He wanted Early to think of him as an insignificant opponent, indifferent as a whist player and talkative in his cups. As against that, he could not afford to lose money, not even in small silver. He had, altogether, a difficult hand to play. He had the clergyman as partner, a better player (luckily) than the colonel. Affecting to be careless and talkative, Delancey’s most difficult task was to play badly, losing at first, and making his recovery seem to be a mere matter of luck. He was aware that Early was watching him closely and with all the knowledge of one whose own play was masterly. In the end he displayed his stupidity less by his actual play than by his comments after each game. “We had the worst of that, partner—and the colonel had the ace of hearts all along!” “Well done, sir—I had no idea that you were so strong in spades!” They changed partners after the rubber and Delancey now had to play with Mr Early. In the ordinary way their superiority over the other two would have been obvious but Delancey tried to make his play mediocre if not exactly stupid. It was an exhausting evening, one way and another, and Delancey was glad when the clergyman said that he was tired and must leave the table.

  As they stood for a few minutes in conversation, Mr Early said to him, “After that bad start, Mr Delancey, you are lucky not to be out of pocket. But I daresay that you could win back at sea more than you lost on land.”

  Delancey looked rather taken aback and said, after a pause, that smugglers were not easy to catch. “It’s the early bird . . .” he began and then paused in apparent confusion while his opponent went on to finish the proverb: “It’s the early worm,” he suggested, “that gets the bird. Or that, perhaps, is what you hope?”

  The Rose sailed the following day and Delancey set a course for Lyme Regis. It was a long beat against a stiff westerly breeze and the late afternoon found him no further west than Bridport. He turned back at that point and spent the night on a slow cruise along the Chesil Bank. He put in next day (March the fourth) at Weymouth, where he called on Mr Hayes, the collector, and received fresh confirmation that the smuggling on that coast was directed from a centre in Dorchester. “We can’t prevent smuggling,” Mr Hayes, admitted, “but we can curb it.” The time had come to make an example, for the evasion of the law had become too blatant of late. It was easy to catch the small men, mere fishermen and farmers. The difficulty was in seizing an important cargo owned by some man of local consequence; and even such a seizure would not lead to the exposure of the man himself. There were troops stationed at Dorchester but they seemed unwilling to assist the riding officers. The rumour was that the officers’ mess was supplied with liquor at a special price.

  Delancey sailed that evening after dark and cruised with a light following wind towards St Alban’s Head. The dragoons should have marched from Wareham by now and would be on their way to Studland. If all went as planned the Dove would be caught red-handed before the morning.

  The Rose was off Old Harry just before midnight and Delancey began a slow patrol backwards and forwards between there and Canford Cliffs. The cutter was cleared for action with guns loaded and small arms ready to issue. On the first sweep southwards Delancey took the cutter fairly close to the beach. Even on this dark night he could see the line of the breakers and the gleam of the white cliffs at the Foreland. There was no sign at first of any other vessel but a light was glimpsed about an hour later and it turned out to be placed in the bows of a six-oared rowing boat. The Rose was hailed by the boatmen, who turned out to be from Swanage. The coxswain carried a letter to Delancey bearing the seal of the Poole Custom House. Having delivered it, he extinguished his lantern and headed back whence he came. Delancey went below and opened the letter in his cabin. It read as follows:

  Custom House

  Poole.

  March 3rd 1795

  Urgent

  Dear Sir,

  I have requested H.M. Collector at Swanage to endeavour to see that this letter reaches you without delay and in time, I trust, to facilitate the interception of an illicit cargo which you formerly had reason to expect would be landed at Lulworth Cove on the night of March the fourth. It has come to my knowledge that you have now altered your plan and expect the landing to take place at Studland. From a letter which I now enclose, written by an informant whose past information has proved reliable, you will conclude that no landing is to be expected at either Studland or Lulworth. I have to request, therefore, in the Collector’s absence, that you act on this more recent intelligence and use your best endeavour to seize both vessel and cargo.

  I have the honour to be, sir,

  Your obedient servant,

  George Miller

  The enclosure was addressed to the Collector at Poole and was dated from Corfe Castle on March the second.

  Dear Sir,

  Rumour has it that a cargo is to be landed illegally at Studland two days from now and that the Rose has been given orders accordingly. I think it my duty as a law-abiding freeholder to make it known to you that this cargo is in truth to be landed at Mudeford near Christchurch. I also have good reason to believe that the vessel concerned will not sail again from Mudeford before four in the morning of March the fifth which gives me the more reason to hope the preventive cutter will be there in time.

  I have the honour to be, sir

  Your ob’t ser’t

  James Weston

  Delancey read these documents a second time and then more slowly again, and the more he studied them the less he liked their contents. The Rose did not, of course, come under the orders of the Custom House at Poole so that he could ignore the request if he chose. But should he do so? With his head in his hands he began to puzzle out what had happened. First of all, his deception plan had failed. If the informer knew that Studland, not Lulworth, was the place where he expected the landing, a warning must have reached him. It seemed likely, in that case, that the smugglers had also been warned and that a signal would have directed Sam Carter to some other point, probably Lulworth. But what about the signature? If Withers’ signature had been forged before, might not this letter be another forgery, the work of the same hand? If so, what was the object? The Dove was presumably at Lulworth and would be gone before the Rose, beating to windward, could arrive there. But somebody still wanted the Rose out of the way, presumably because there was another smuggling vessel expected. The aim would be to lure the Rose well to leeward of the point at which this other landing was to be made. Where, then, would it be? Presumably in Poole harbour itself. All this, however, was sheer guesswork. Perhaps the Dove’s run had been delayed for a day and would take place at Studland after all. . . . Whatever he did now might be wrong and it would be sheer luck if his guess were to prove correct. The probability was that he would be made to look ridiculous by the morning—the keen young naval officer whose knowledge was not quite equal to his zeal. All the gossip in Market Street, Poole, would be about the way he had tried to trick the smugglers and
had been tricked himself. Delancey came on deck and paced up and down for five minutes. Then, abruptly, he made his decision and began to issue his orders. “Hands to go about!” was the word and the Rose made a course for Poole harbour.

  “Mr Lane—I shall want two boats manned and armed, with a lantern in the six-oared gig. I am going to close in with Studland Bay. Start sounding in five minutes, I want a reliable man in the chains.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. The ebb has begun, though.”

  “I know that—Mr Torrin!”

  “Sir?”

  “I shall want you to take the gig into Studland Bay. Show your lantern and you will be challenged by some dragoons who should be posted there. I shall give you a letter to Captain Molyneux but I want you to know the situation in case he asks questions. My guess is that tonight’s run is taking place in the South Deep. I shall take the other boat in and will head for Goathorn Point. I should be greatly obliged to Captain Molyneux if he would, therefore, block the landward exit from that peninsula, covering the paths between Newton and Newton Copse.” Going below with the chart and map, Delancey explained his plan in detail, allowing Torrin to believe that he was acting upon information rather than upon mere guesswork. After making contact with the dragoons Torrin was to bring the gig up to the harbour entrance and mount guard there from midnight until the other boat came out again. Mr Lane, with the Rose herself, was to cruise as far as Christchurch, returning to the Swash next morning to pick up the boats, together with any capture they might have made.

  Torrin’s boat went into Studland Bay and the Rose, half an hour later, was near the entrance to Poole harbour. The larger boat was lowered there and manned with eight men and the coxswain. Delancey quitted the Rose last, leaving Mr Lane, with the boatswain and four hands, to take her under easy sail towards Christchurch. There was little Lane could do if he fell in with any smuggling craft but Delancey hoped that the gesture was sufficient. The ebb was running fast but Delancey hoisted a lugsail on his boat and was off North Haven Point in half an hour. To enter the South Deep meant lowering the sail and rowing almost into the teeth of the wind. There was over a mile to cover and it was half past two before the water deepened and the channel curved northward. It was hard work for the oarsmen and was as difficult a piece of navigation as Delancey could remember, but the South Deep was marked by stakes and the coxswain had been there repeatedly in daylight. With muffled rowlocks the boat began its cautious approach to Goathorn Point. Downwind (thank God!) came the sound of voices, the creaking of a tackle and, just audible, the whinny of a horse.