A Certain Threat (The Merriman Chronicles Book 1)

by Roger Burnage

  Briefly he allowed his thoughts to wander to Alan Jones, his friend and First Lieutenant in the brig Conflict, killed in the affair with the corsairs, and what a capable and absolutely reliable officer he had been. “I would have no doubts about him” he thought.

  Merriman cursed himself for his inattention to his surroundings as Midshipman Oakley who was at the tiller whispered “Nearly there Sir, good luck.” just before the boat scraped on the shore. They were fortunate that it was almost high tide, saving them a weary foot slogging over the muddy foreshore. Two burly seamen dropped over the side and carried Merriman and Mr. Grahame above the tide line to keep their boots dry. Quickly pushing the boat afloat again the two men climbed on board and the boat disappeared into the darkness. No further word had been spoken, all knew what to do.

  “Well done Captain” said Grahame, “Horses are our next problem.”

  After struggling through the soft sand over a stretch of low sand dunes they found a rough track which led towards the village of Hoose. Hoose and the adjacent village of Little Meols overlooked the stretch of sea known as the Hoyle Lake, bounded by the Hoyle Bank and at that time the area containing the two villages was beginning to be known as Hoylake. A brisk walk soon brought them to a small hotel by the name of the Green Lodge. As Mr. Grahame was obviously a gentleman but Merriman looked more like a servant in his seaman’s trousers and borrowed coat and carrying a small signalling lantern, they determined to maintain those roles and Grahame was quickly able to secure the hire of two horses from an ingratiating innkeeper. That individual’s questions and attempts to strike up a conversation were speedily crushed by a cold stare from Grahame and the injunction to mind his own damned business.

  It was only some fifteen miles to Burton where Merriman’s parents lived, so it was not long before Merriman was banging on the door for admittance. After a brief wait lights flared in an upstairs window followed by the sounds of movement behind the door. Merriman heard his father’s voice bellowing “Who is it waking folk in the middle of the night, speak up now?”

  At the reply “James, Father, with a friend,” the bolts were withdrawn and the door opened to reveal the Captain wearing a gown over his nightshirt and holding a brace of pistols, one of them cocked. A manservant holding a club hovered in the background, and a maid was at the foot of the stairs.

  “Sorry about the pistols James,” said his father un-cocking the one and placing it on a side table with its companion. “There are so many villains about that one cannot be too careful. Now then, who is your friend and why are you here when we thought you to be in London?”

  “A long story Father, but first may we not go near a fire and have something to warm us? And the horses need to be stabled.”

  “Of course my boy, forgetting my manners” and turning to Mr. Grahame he said “You are welcome Sir.” Giving instructions to the maid to go upstairs and reassure Mrs Merriman that all was well, he led them into the main room of the house where the remains of a fire were still glowing. The manservant quickly re-appeared with some logs and livened up the fire whilst Captain Merriman poured glasses of brandy and handed them round.

  After sending the man to rouse a stable boy to see to the horses before going back to bed, he said “Now then James, I’m eaten up with curiosity to know why you have arrived dressed like a servant, and in the middle of the night too?”

  Merriman proceeded to introduce his companion and to relate to his father all the events that had happened since leaving home, and Mr. Grahame’s part in them. “So you see Father, we came ashore secretly, hoping to avoid spreading the news too soon that a new King’s ship was in these waters, before we knew if anything further has developed up here. Mr. Grahame has his own sources of information and will be pursuing those as soon as he can, but have you seen Owen again or have Mr. Flitwick’s revenue people found out anything new?”

  “No James, I have heard nothing from Mr. Flitwick since you left and there has been no word from your man Owen. I hope he’s still alive, it’s a dangerous game he is playing.”

  “It certainly is Father. You know, he hasn’t got a sister but he has told the gang that he has, and it might help Owen if it could be arranged for him to have a ‘sister’ at a farm near here, so that if anybody suspects him and follows him, he could go there to see her rather than come here to the house of a known magistrate. Do you think we can persuade somebody to help in this way?”

  “Good idea James, leave it to me. I’m sure that Mr. Green at Burton Farm will help, I’ll go and see him tomorrow.”

  Grahame stood up and moving closer to the fire, spoke quietly, “Captain Merriman, as you will have realized, we are not dealing here with simple smugglers, there is much more at stake than you know. I’m privy to certain information which I am not at liberty to divulge at present but I will tell you in confidence that the French are deeply involved. It is also believed that some person or persons of the Quality are mixed up in it and none of it can be to this country’s benefit.”

  “That’s true” replied the Captain, “Are we talking about treason, Sir?”

  “I believe we are Captain, I believe we are.”

  “Then damn and blast the lot of them Sir, God’s curse on a man who will betray his country. I’ll do all I can to help in any way I can, though I don’t know what more I can do.”

  “I’m sure you will Sir, perhaps you could make more enquiries of your neighbours to pick up any gossip or rumour which may have a grain of truth in it, and also follow the Lieutenant’s suggestion about the farmer and this man Owen’s – er – sister.”

  Grahame continued, “I would like to be off early in the morning to see one of my informers, and your son is also to go to Chester to see Mr. Flitwick, so if I may be found a little something to eat and somewhere to rest ------- ?”

  “Of course Sir, I sent the servants to bed but I’m sure we can find some bread and cold meats in the kitchen. We can go and help ourselves.”

  As they munched on thick slices of cold beef, pickles and bread spread with fresh yellow butter Merriman’s father remarked, “By the by James, a box arrived for you only today from London.”

  “Ah, that could be my new uniform, I’ll look at it later to see that it fits, I can take it back to the ship with me tomorrow evening or the day after.”

  Next morning, as the sun was beginning to disperse the early morning mists, the two men set off on their respective errands, riding two of Captain Merriman’s horses, agreeing to meet back at the house later that day. Merriman was now dressed in his own clothes. His destination was the Customs House where he expected to be able to speak with Mr. Flitwick the Chief Customs Officer. Entering the city, he made enquiries as to the location of the Customs House to find that it was in Watergate Street.

  The building was built mostly of brick with stonework round the windows and doors, much weatherworn and set at an awkward angle to the rest of the buildings in the street. Over the main entrance, carved into a stone tablet, a coat of arms appeared to have an Earl’s coronet at the top of the achievement. Dismounting, Merriman was surprised to see a small figure he recognized, slipping into one of the other several entrances. It was Mr. Beadle, the lawyer’s clerk.

  Entering the building which was thronged with porters, merchants, customs men and clerks he saw that the floor was covered with bales of Irish muslin and printed linen, bundles of hides from Ireland mixed with boxes of tea and coffee, small barrels of spirits and other bundles of an indeterminate nature piled to the ceiling. Customs men were busy weighing and measuring to assess the amount of duty payable and the air was filled with a rich variety of aromas and the sounds of fierce argument. Papers and fists were brandished as merchants quibbled with the customs men over the assessments, trying to reduce their costs.

  Merriman asked and was told that Mr. Flitwick was on the next floor. Climbing the stairs he could see over most of the ground floor and he glimpsed Mr. Beadle in earnest conversation with one of the clerks in a corner behind a
pile of barrels. “Strange, what do those two have in common? Probably friends I suppose, both being clerks” he mused and then dismissed all thoughts of Beadle and his friend when he saw Mr. Flitwick standing behind a row of clerks at desks, watching as they collected money and recorded the details in huge ledgers as merchants lined up to pay.

  “Mr. Merriman Sir, a pleasure to see you again. What brings you to this bedlam?” Without waiting for an answer he moved away from the counting desks and continued, “This is what we call the counting room where we collect duties and keep it in strongboxes until it can be sent down to the treasury in London. We also have auction sales of seized goods in this room which is sometimes called the Long Room. Why the Long Room you ask? No good reason really, every Customs House has one whatever size and shape it is. Named after the one in London I shouldn’t wonder.”

  He carried on this monologue until he had found a clear space near a window where they would not be overheard. “Mr. Merriman, I have some information which may interest you. Three or four days ago one of our small luggers which watches for smuggling round the Isle of Man, encountered a ship which may have been our stolen cutter. It was almost dark but one man who had been crew on the cutter recognized it by the odd shaped patches on the mainsail, rather like an inverted letter ‘T’ he said. The hull was painted a darker colour than it had been but he was certain that he was right.”

  “Where exactly was this, and what course was it steering?”

  “To the west of the island and heading south, but that doesn’t tell us it’s final destination does it?”

  “No it doesn’t, but now we know that it is still in these waters and that gives us hope of finding it.”

  Merriman went on to tell Mr. Flitwick about his new command and Mr. Grahame’s presence aboard. “He asked me to convey his regards and hopes to call on you but it’s not certain he will have the time.”

  “Thank you, Laurence Graham is a very good friend of mine and we have served in the Treasury service together. Perhaps you would give me the pleasure of entertaining you to a meal. I must stay here until mid-day but shortly after I could meet you in the Yacht Inn where I usually eat. It’s only a little way up this street.”

  “That’s kind of you Sir, I look forward to it.”

  Merriman looked around for Mr. Beadle as he left the building but the little man was not to be seen. Mounting his horse, Merriman rode slowly to the Yacht Inn where he stabled the animal. With time to spare he strolled up the street, pausing to look in Mr. Taylor’s music shop where apparently one could buy a harpsichord for eighteen guineas, a pianoforte for twenty four guineas, guitars, violins, violincellos and all manner of wind instruments. He moved on to the church in the centre of the town and then down Bridge Street. He gazed into shop windows, many of them the new bow windows developed to show more merchandise and to entice people into the shop.

  He was amused by some of the curious items advertised in the pharmacies, “Try Dr. Steer’s Apodeldoc for the Cure of Chilblains, Rheumatism and Lumbago” announced one. “Devonshire Tooth Tincture, Relieves Toothache and Prevents Decaying Teeth from Becoming Worse. Restores the Colour and Sweetens the Breath. Two Shillings and Ninepence a Bottle” declared another. More disconcertingly others promised certain cures for venereal disease, among them “Dr. Arnold’s Pills” and one with the resounding title of “Abbe Blondell’s Grand Chymical Specific.” Merriman smiled to himself and moved on.

  Later, over a pleasant meal, the conversation between Merriman and Mr. Flitwick was mostly concerning smuggling and the troubles of the Revenue service.

  “Do you know Sir, that the source of most of our problems is the Isle of Man?” Merriman had to admit that he did not.

  “Used to belong to the Earl of Derby and then to the Duke of Atholl you know. They owned the island and most of their income came from lower duties and customs paid to them on goods prohibited here which were then smuggled into England and Wales, Scotland and Ireland too. That state of affairs continued until the Duke of Atholl was prevailed upon to sell his fiscal rights to the crown and the Revestment Act of 1765 transferred ownership to the Crown. Have some more of this excellent ham Sir, or maybe another portion of the steak and kidney pie, I can recommend it.”

  Merriman had to admit defeat. “Thank you, but no. I am too full already.”

  “Very well then, you won’t mind if I do” said Mr. Flitwick helping himself to another thick slice of ham and a generous dollop of pickle. “Where was I? Oh yes, the Isle of Man. After 1765 the trade declined a bit until the smugglers re-organised but it is still a significant and profitable trade, although since Mr. Pitt reduced the Duty on many items it must be less so. There are so many boats engaged in smuggling around these coasts that I doubt we catch more than two or three in a hundred, which makes it all the more surprising that the smugglers want to call more attention to themselves with this latest devilment.”

  Popping another portion of ham into his mouth and speaking with his mouth full, he went on “Now they come from France and Guernsey and unload at sea into smaller boats and wherries to be smuggled ashore. In 1788 Mr. Pitt the prime minister commissioned a report on the trade from a Mr. Frazer who said that he estimated that the amount smuggled into the island at that time was about fifteen thousand gallons of brandy and perhaps five thousand gallons of Genever a year, not to mention tea and other spirits and wines. The loss to the treasury in unpaid duty must be enormous.”

  “I had no idea that such quantities were involved” said Merriman.

  Flitwick carried on, almost unstoppable, “Frazer also reported that many of our own officers were so addicted to drinking that they were incapable of duty and some of them were even connected with the smugglers so that we are uncertain which of them is loyal. There was another more recent report from a Mr. Alexander Cook last year, to the effect that unless more cruisers can be found, together with more Riding Officers supported by more military, then it is doubtful that most of the trade can be prevented. Even so, little has been done to improve matters. There Sir, what do you say to that?”

  “I would agree, there seems to be little hope of stopping the trade completely, but if we can catch a few more and especially find out who or what is behind this latest outrage, then we may make some impact upon it.”

  “Maybe so” said Mr. Flitwick, looking wistfully at the remaining ham. “Maybe so. Anyway, I must settle with the landlord and get back to my duties. This has been a pleasure Mr. Merriman.”

  “Indeed, and thank you for a fine meal. I look forward to meeting you again Sir.”

  As he rode homeward in the fading daylight, Merriman pondered on the events of the day. What did the re-appearance of the cutter mean? Was the gang even now killing and looting some other innocent party? Little Mr. Beadle came to mind, what was he doing at the customs house? Was he about his own business or was he on an errand for someone? If an errand, then surely it would be for his employer, the lawyer Jeremiah Robinson. If it was an errand for the lawyer then surely he would have spoken to one of the senior customs officers, even Mr. Flitwick, not to a mere clerk?

  Merriman shook his head. Question upon question and an answer to none of them.

  Chapter 14: French Spies & Irish Allies

  On the outskirts of Dublin, an old weather-beaten inn creaked and shook to the onslaught of the wind and rain. A faded sign swung to and fro with eerie screeching from the long un-oiled ironwork from which it hung. On it could just be discerned the words “The Poacher’s Rest” but the painted picture which once must have shown the figure of a poacher was so battered by the elements that most of the paint had peeled away long ago.

  To the passer-by the place gave the impression of total dereliction, even the gates to the stable yard looked unusable and the roofs of the stables and outbuildings visible over the gates appearing to be in a tumbledown condition. That impression would be wrong. If the passer-by had been able to see them he would have found the hinges on the gates to have been carefully oil
ed and in the stables several horses feeding contentedly from their nosebags. No light from the single lantern escaped from the stable as window and doors were covered in sack-cloth. At the back of the old inn a feeble light glowed through a crack in an imperfectly covered window.

  Two stubby pieces of candle stuck into the neck of wax encrusted wine bottles gave enough feeble light to illuminate the faces of the five men grouped round the rough wooden table in the centre of the room.

  Two of the men were dressed in caped overcoats such as a coachman might wear. One of these two was generously proportioned around the waist, whilst his similarly dressed and elegant companion was quite tall and slim. This man wore a small tie wig and carried himself with an air of aristocratic arrogance as though he considered himself to be above his companions. A third man, small in stature, with a furtive air about him stood close beside the fat man. The fourth man, dark featured and dark haired, was roughly dressed, more like a fisherman than a gentleman, and was unmistakably an Irishman. But it was the fifth man who drew the attention of the others. He was plainly but elegantly dressed in dark clothing with a silk lined cloak round his shoulders. He wore no wig but his hair was powdered and tied back with a silk ribbon, a style fast going out of fashion. A deep scar on his left cheek seemed to be emphasized by the candlelight. A simple leather baldrick supported a long rapier at his side which had the appearance of a well used weapon. He stood there with one hand resting casually on the hilt of the sword.

  Round the walls of the room five or six other men could be seen, some having the appearance of labourers but others more respectably dressed. Two or three of them held muskets and all of them were armed in some way.

  The elegantly dressed man was speaking quietly but he had no difficulty in making himself heard as the others kept a respectful silence as he spoke.