In any case, it seemed to Roger, it would be a poor gamble to count on Droopy being at Lord Amesbury’s London house before mid-August and, in the meantime, a country boy with little ready money but a hoard of jewels stood a terrible risk of becoming the prey of the sharks that infested the poorer quarters of the capital.
While he was still pondering the thorny problem of converting his treasure into cash the outer door was thrust open and Dan Izzard came in. With a cheerful ‘Good day, young Squire’ to Roger, the smuggler advanced to the narrow counter and banged upon it with an empty pewter pot. The serving maid came out of the back room and greeted him with a smile.
‘Is Master Trattle in?’ asked Dan; and on the girl nodding, he added: ‘Then go fetch he, wench, and I’ll thank thee for it.’
A moment or two later the burly, red-faced landlord appeared and asked Dan’s business.
The smuggler cast a casual glance over his shoulder at Roger, then leaned over the counter and, lowering his gruff voice, began to talk to the landlord.
Roger was still absorbed in his own affairs and, at first, did not pay much attention to the conversation. It was evident that Dan, knowing him to be ‘safe’ was indifferent as to if he listened or not, and he had jumped to it at once that the smuggler was arranging the shipment of a new supply of illicit spirits for the inn. But as his gaze rested idly on Dan’s broad back a sudden idea came to him.
For some minutes the two men continued their low-voiced talk; then, with a muttered: ‘That suit me, well enough; us’ll make it four nights from now,’ Dan turned away.
‘Dan!’ Roger called. ‘Wilt join me in a glass?’
The smuggler paused, halfway across the room. ‘Aye, Master Roger; I never say nay to a dram o’ good liquor. I’ll drink ‘e’s good health in a noggin o’ rum.’
Mr. Trattle poured the drink and disappeared to resume his afternoon nap. Dan picked it up and, with a smile, came and sat down at the table.
Lifting his glass he said: ‘Well, here’s long life to ’e, young Master. ’E’ve grown quite a bit since I last clapped eyes on ‘e, and soon it’ll be Mister Brook that us’ll all be touchin’ our caps to.’
‘That’s it, Dan,’ Roger smiled back, as he sipped his own cordial. The spontaneous lead that he had been given lent itself to the idea he was developing, and an easy distortion of facts came quite readily to his tongue. ‘My father is by way of getting me a midshipman’s commission, and I hope to be at sea in a month or two.’
‘Well, jus’ think o’ that now! ’Tis a fine life though; ’tis a fine life, Master Roger.’
‘I’ve never doubted that,’ Roger lied, adding after a second: ‘But it will take a lot of getting used to, and it’s that which worries me. I’ll just die of shame, Dan, if I’m sick the first time my ship leaves port on a voyage.’
‘Why should ‘e be, Master Roger?’ Dan asked him in surprise. ‘I’s seen ’e often in they little yachts sailin’ round the island when it were blowin’ quite a bit, an’ ‘e seemed merry as a grig.’
‘But that’s different,’ Roger objected, ‘I may be sick as a dog in a big ship once she’s out in the open sea.’
‘Nay, ’tis not as different as all that. In a tempest, now, many a strong man’s belly turns over on ‘im ‘fore it’s blowed its out; but ‘e’ve naught to fear given normal weather.’
Roger sighed and looked down into his glass. ‘I would that I felt as certain as you do that I’ll not make a fool of myself. You see, I’ve never sailed farther than along the coast to Poole, or up to Southampton, and I haven’t an idea what it’s like in mid-channel.’
‘’Tis no different, I tell ‘e,’ Dan assured him; but he was now regarding the boy with thoughtful sympathy, assuming that some old salt must have scared him with tales of waves as high as mountains; and, to his simple mind, there was nothing strange in a land-lubber believing that it was always rough out in unprotected water.
Having planted this seed in the smuggler’s mind, Roger pretended to shrug away his own worries and asked: ‘How are things with you, Dan?’
‘Oh, well enough, Master Roger. There’s only one real worry I got. That bastard Ollie Nixon ‘as swore to get me, an’ ‘e’s darn nigh done it a brace o’ times since Whitsuntide.’
Roger knew that the man referred to was the Chief Excise Officer of the district, whose main business it was to put down smuggling, but a special bitterness in Dan’s tone impelled him to ask:
‘Why has Mr. Nixon got his knife into you, particularly, Dan?’
‘’Tis on account of an affair last winter, over Poole way. Ollie Nixon’s young brother were the leader of a squad o’ Preventive Men. They catched some chaps comin’ up a chine wi’ pack-horses, havin’ jus’ landed a cargo, an’ there were a real set-to.’
‘I remember hearing of it,’ Roger put in. ‘One of the gang hit young Mr. Nixon over the head with a cudgel and he died of it. The Justices have never been down on smuggling, but they won’t stand for murder, and ‘twas murder, right enough. There was a big reward offered.’
‘Aye; fifty guineas, no less, for any of ’em who’d turn King’s evidence, an’ a free pardon into the bargain; but they ne’er laid hands on the wicked devil that done it.’
‘Does Ollie Nixon think that you were mixed up in that affair, then?’
‘That’s the rig of it, Master Roger. Though as God is my witness, my order to my lads has ever been to jettison the cargo an’ take to their heels at first sight o’ the Preventives. Better by far lose a cargo than be forced into a fight where a killing may happen.’
‘You’re right there, Dan, and ’tis hard that Nixon should be endeavouring to pin it on you, since you’re innocent.’
‘He’ll not pin it on me. There be no way he can do that. But ’tis fixed in his mind that ‘twas my lugger lying off shore that night, an’ that one o’ my lads dealt the blow. So he’s swore he’ll get me, be it by fair means or foul.’
‘You’re off again soon, aren’t you? I was just behind my father in the conservatory when you came to the house last night, and you said something of another trip.’
‘Aye, aye; an’ tonight it is. I’ll be droppin’ down the river wi’ the turn o’ the tide soon arter midnight.’
Roger sprang his mine. Take me with you, Dan.’
The smuggler’s eyes opened wide at the request, and he quickly shook his head. ‘Nay, Master Roger. ’Tis a crazy thing you ask. Should the Cap’n learn of it he’d ne’er forgive me.’
‘He won’t learn of it,’ said Roger firmly, and added with swift invention: ‘He believes I’m lying away from home tonight at Colonel Thursby’s house; and as they are not on speaking terms hell never find out that I didn’t.’
Again Dan shook his head. ‘Nay, that will not serve ’e. Us’ll be gone three days, and unable to land ‘e again till four nights from now.’
‘Oh, but it will,’ Roger parried, ‘I’d planned to stay with the Thursbys for a week. I can easily ride over to Highcliffe this evening, make my excuses, and say that I’ll not be coming to them till Saturday.’
‘My lads would be agin’ it. They know the quality be our good friends, but they’d be strong against the likes of ’e bein’ let into the secrets o’ the game.’
‘Please, Dan,’ Roger begged. The making of such a trip would be a vast boon to me. ’Twould give me just the change I need to prove myself before entering the Navy.’
‘Nay, Master Roger, ’tis too great a risk to take. Were anything to happen to ’e I’d have half the gentry o’ the county down on me.’
‘Why should anything happen—unless we’re all caught? And in such a case having me with you would prove to your advantage. The Justices would never convict if it involved sentencing Captain Brook’s son to transportation.’
‘Aye, there’s something in that. Still, I’m agin’ it.’
‘Look!’ said Roger suddenly, ‘I’ll make it worth your while, Dan. I’ll pay you a five-pound bounty to take me on the t
rip.’
The smuggler’s dark eyes showed a gleam of cupidity. In spite of the good profits he made after each successful run he was by no means a rich man. Periodically he was compelled to jettison a cargo from fear of capture, and each time that happened it robbed him of the earnings of many months’ hard and dangerous work. Owing to Mr. Nixon’s vendetta against him it was much longer than usual since he had made a trip and he was only driven to it now by the grumbling of his penniless crew. He had to pay cash for his goods on the other side and being in low funds himself was not taking over as much money as he could have wished; so an additional five pounds would come in very handy. Yet still he hesitated.
Seeing his hesitation Roger leapt into the breach. ‘Please, Dan! I beg you to. If ’tis as you say and the sea no rougher in mid-channel than off the island, a voyage to France and back is the very thing I need to give me confidence. ’Twould make a world of difference to me when I join my first ship this autumn.’
Dan Izzard was a good-hearted man and deeply touched by the appeal. It overcame the last scruples of his better judgment, and he said: ‘So be it. I’ll take ’e. But no sky-larkin’, mind. ’E’ll not be young Master aboard the Sally Ann, but do as ‘e’s bid.’
‘I will, Dan; I will. I promise,’ agreed Roger enthusiastically.
Then be down by Northover’s quay sharp on midnight,’ Dan added. ‘’Tis from there we sail, an’ time an’ tide wait for no man.’
The matter now being agreed the smuggler finished his drink, pulled the tassel of his woollen cap a little further over his left ear, and with a gruff word of good-bye to Roger, left the inn.
Roger’s eyes were still shining from his success in having persuaded the smuggler to take him, as he was confident the trip would prove the solution to the problem that had been worrying him so much. The French authorities, he knew, were entirely indifferent as to if cargoes of spirits shipped from France were for legal or illegal tender when they reached England. Therefore it was certain that Dan would pick up his shipment quite openly in one of the French ports—probably the great city of Le Havre. They would be there for a full day at least, and Roger felt that there should be no difficulty in his going ashore and disposing his treasure to a French goldsmith in the town.
Every Englishman of good appearance and address was, he had often heard, regarded as a fabulously rich Milord in France, so his possession of a pocketful of jewels would not excite the same suspicion there as it was likely to do in England. Moreover, even if the goldsmith to whom he offered them did suspect that they were stolen goods, he would see at once that they were of English origin and, having nothing to fear from the English law, have no hesitation in buying them, provided that he could make a profitable bargain.
Already Roger saw himself safely back in England on the coming Saturday night with several rouleaux of gold coin that he could place with a banker in London for safe keeping on the following Monday. Congratulating himself on this excellent stroke he summoned the maid, paid her eightpence for the drinks and left the ‘Angel’.
He had been considering what he should do with himself for the next few hours when Dan had come in. As he could hardly remain in the tap-room till nightfall and had no wish to spend the time loitering about the town, in case he should run into someone from home who would tell him that his father was seeking him, he decided to go into hiding. The woods outside the town offered a score of good places where he could lie up but he did not wish to go too far afield and unnecessarily fatigue himself with a longish walk back after dark, so it had occurred to him that the churchyard would be a good place to conceal himself during the long summer evening.
Having walked back along the High Street, he turned into it and found, as he had supposed would be the case, that it was completely deserted. Making his way to its extreme end he selected a grassy dip between a large box-like stone tomb and the hedge, and settled himself down there. For a little he thought about Georgina, then, tired out with the excitement of the day, he fell asleep.
He awoke with a start to find it quite dark. As the rendezvous he had made with Dan flashed back to him he stumbled to his feet in panic, fearing that it might now be so late that he had missed it. A moment later the bell of the Town Hall clock began to strike. Anxiously he counted the strokes and sighed with relief when they ended; it was only ten.
A little shiver ran through him and he was suddenly conscious of an eerie feeling from being there alone, at night, in the graveyard. Vaguely now he could see the white tomb stones, and each one seemed like a ghost. Hastily stumbling between them he ran back to the road, arriving in the High Street quite breathless and with his heart beating like a hammer. The street was empty; most of the townsfolk had been in bed for the past hour and the only light that was to be seen came from an upper window in Monmouth House, on the corner of Church Lane.
When his breathing had eased, Roger crossed the street and made his way along it, past the bow windows of the now shuttered shops and the few private dwellings interspersed among them; but some way before reaching the Town Hall he turned right, entering a narrow gap between two buildings. The alley, known as Aishley’s Lane, was less than a hundred yards in length but continued as a footpath which led straight down the hill between an open field on the one hand and the meadow and walled kitchen garden of his own home on the other.
Now that his eyes were accustomed to the semi-darkness of the summer night he could make out the square pile of the house rising from the lower ground and the outline of the tall trees beyond it. Two minutes’ walk brought him to the end of the footpath and into the road on to which the stable gates of the house opened. They were locked, as he expected, but he made short work of hoisting himself up on them and dropping down inside. As he did so the Town clock chimed the half-hour.
Curly, the Irish wolf-hound, came out of his kennel and growled ominously. Roger spoke to him softly and at the sound of the well-known voice the dog fell quiet, shook himself with a rattle of his chain, and retired once more to his kennel. Tip-toeing across the yard Roger entered the garden and, taking to the grass, began to make a cautious circuit of the house for any signs of wakefulness of its occupants.
As he came out on to the lawn he saw, to his intense annoyance, that there was a light behind the curtains of the library window. Evidently his father was waiting up for him. He stood there irresolute for a moment, the terror of what would happen to him if he were caught by his infuriated parent surging through him. He positively dared not go in, yet, somehow he had got to get hold of his money-box before midnight. The only thing to do was to wait a while and hope that his father would go to bed.
Retracing his steps he sat down in the summer-house and, forcing himself to go slowly, counted a thousand. Then he walked round the corner of the house again. The light was still burning. Returning to the summer house he vowed to himself that he would not take another look until some moments after the next chiming of the Town clock, as it seemed to him hardly likely that his father would continue his vigil beyond eleven.
Consumed with impatience, he waited. At last the melodious chimes rang out but, to his amazement and dismay, the bell did not toll eleven; it was only a quarter-to. All the same he went round the house, but only to meet with another disappointment.
Back in the summer-house once more it suddenly came to him that he had had no dinner and was very hungry. There was plenty of fruit in the garden and, although not very sustaining, it was better than nothing; moreover going in search of it would occupy a little time during the enforced waiting. Tip-toeing up the path he went through the arch to the kitchen garden and made for the west wall, which was covered with fan-trained plum trees. Most of the gages were not yet ripe but he knew every tree in the garden and went straight to a purple plum that was just ready for picking. Having eaten several, he went into the netted cage and attacked the raspberry canes. But they did not taste half as good without sugar and cream, so he abandoned them and, leaving the cage, walked up the south wall on
which grew the peaches and nectarines. Finding that the only early trees had been denuded of their fruit for his father’s home-coming dinner of the day before, he fell back on the apricots and ate of them until he was satisfied.
It seemed as if he had been listening for the clock to strike for half an hour, but at last it chimed eleven. Controlling his impatience he made himself count another thousand, then he left the kitchen garden and walked cautiously round the corner of the house again. The light was still burning in the library.
He wondered desperately if he dared enter the house while his father was still up. As his own room was at the back of the house he thought that he would be able to get into it unheard, but, to collect his things he would have to kindle a light, and the door of his room opened on to the half-landing of the staircase. Should his father decide to go up to bed while the light was on he would see it under the door and the fat would then be in the fire with a vengeance. Roger decided that he dared not risk it.
Yet, if he failed to get his money-box in time to be at Northover’s quay by midnight, his whole plan would be ruined. He had promised Dan five pounds and, if he could not show the colour of his money Dan might refuse to take him. A prey to the most appalling indecision he hovered there, taking his weight first on one foot then on the other. Suddenly the light went out.
His relief was soon swamped in a new wave of impatience. He must give his father time to lock up and get to bed and, fearing that he might be seen from one of the windows he quickly tip-toed back to the shelter of the summer-house. With his hands clasped he sat there counting the seconds as the interminable minutes dragged away. At last the clock chimed a quarter past. He could bear to wait no longer and, getting up, stole round to the courtyard at the back of the house.
The Launching of Roger Brook Page 10