by Joan Smith
“They might have the blunt in their carriage this minute while we waste our time looking for it,” I said, to give Robert an idea that we didn’t have all night.
“I’ll have Isaiah hauled out of bed and quiz him,” he said.
“This way!” sounded from the roof of the hut.
“Oh, dear, he’s spotted a badger or an owl,” I said wearily.
Robert’s lips quirked in a grin. “You have a poor opinion of us,” he said.
“Only of your tracking instincts. You’re not hound dogs, after all.”
“What is it?” Robert called up to Lottie.
“Someone just darted through the meadow. He’s heading off past the water meadow toward the road.”
“Are you sure it isn’t a hare?” I asked. “They do forage at night.”
“It was bigger than a hare,” he said, but he sounded uncertain. If it had been a person, he would have said so.
In any case, he leaped down from the roof and took off, skirting the water meadow. Robert grabbed my hand again and we followed him at a less lively gait, pelting through the long grass, with the wan moon shining above and reflecting in the water. A soft breeze cooled our brows as we hastened along. Lollie let out a loud “Halloo,” and “Wait up there!” but the “hare” either didn’t hear or didn’t heed him.
We followed Lollie up toward the graveyard, where silent marble sentinels made our behavior seem uncouth. We continued on past to the church. When we caught up with him, he was sitting on the lychgate, gasping for breath.
“He got away,” he said.
I looked up to the church and Isaiah’s house, just across the road. “Isaiah!” I exclaimed. “I knew he was in on it!”
“It could have been him,” Lollie said. “It wasn’t big enough for a man.”
“Let’s go to his house now,” I said, urging Robert forward with a hand on his elbow.
“I didn’t see him go home,” Lollie said. “I lost him around the water meadow, but I’m sure it was a person, not a hare or a dog. It was running on two feet.”
“We’ll see if he’s home,” I said, again nudging Robert forward.
We all set off for Isaiah’s little flint cottage. It looked snug and innocent; no lights were burning within. It seemed rude to go banging on the door at such an hour. I could see Robert was reluctant to do it, but he continued pacing toward the house at a determined gait.
As we crossed the road and were close enough to see details, I noticed some movement at the side of the cottage. Who should it be but Isaiah, strutting forward, fully dressed. That is to say as fully dressed as he ever is, in a ragged shirt, dark trousers that stopped just below his knees, and no shoes.
“Good evening, Miss Talbot,” he said, as cocky as ever. But he was breathing rather quickly after his dart through the meadow. “Does your auntie know you’re out so late?”
“Mr. Renshaw wants to speak to you, Isaiah, about a most important matter,” I said.
He looked at Robert, crossed his arms, lifted his chin in the air, and said, “Fire away, mister.”
“I notice you haven’t been to bed yet,” Robert said in a friendly way designed to put him off his guard. Little did he know Isaiah Smogg.
“Course I have,” he said, and yawned theatrically, stretching his arms. “I just got up to check my traps.”
“You’re not wearing a nightshirt,” I said.
“Never do, do I? Don’t hold with them. Don’t hold with shoes and all that sissy stuff.” He spat on the ground to show his disgust of civilization as we know it.
“Oh. What traps are they that you set?” I asked.
“Rat traps,” he said with relish. “Ma’s got rats in the pantry. They get in through the holes in the floor. Ate half the rabbit she planned to stew for dinner.”
He went toward the porch, a rickety affair propped up on rocks, picked up a forked stick, and began poking under the porch. He drew out a trap that did indeed hold a rat as big as a kitten. He held it up by the tail, swinging it under my nose. It was still alive. It squealed in a most disconcerting way. I leaped back but managed to suppress the scream that rose in my throat.
“He ain’t quite dead yet,” he said. “I’ll finish him off in a bucket of water. Cruel to let the poor bugger suffer.”
In the meanwhile he set the trapped rat aside and straightened, staring at us mutinously. “You didn’t come here to see if I was in bed. What are you after?” he asked.
“The money you took from the cellar at Oakbay,” Robert said. He didn’t sound angry or questioning but spoke in a normal, everyday sort of voice.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isaiah replied.
“You were seen, Isaiah,” Robert informed him. “Do you know what happens to people who steal from the government? They’re hanged.”
“Got to prove it first, I reckon. I didn’t steal nuthin’ and you can’t prove I did.”
“Where’s the money?” Robert asked. “It will go easier for you if you help us.”
“I don’t know nuthin’ about no money. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to bed—soon as I drown this here rat.”
On this bold speech he turned, picked up the rat trap, in which the rat was still making agonized squeals, and walked away. I gave Robert a commanding look. He just watched Isaiah go.
“Aren’t you going to arrest him? Question him, make him tell what he knows?” I asked.
Lollie looked disappointed in his hero, too. I noticed a frown of disapproval gathering between his eyebrows.
“The lad knows something,” he said to Robert. “It was him I followed through the meadow right enough. Didn’t you notice he was struggling for breath? We can’t just walk away from it.”
“Yes, we can,” Robert said.
He put his hand on my elbow and led me off. Lollie remained behind a moment, then followed us.
“I’m not questioning your judgment, Renshaw,” he said in a very questioning sort of way, “but I do think ...” He peered back over his shoulder.
I suddenly stopped as a horrible idea occurred to me. “If someone is using Isaiah, Robert— Well, they won’t want him around to tell the story. They’ll kill him!”
Robert stood perfectly still, frowning. “Isaiah’s no amateur. He knows he’s involved in serious crime. He was frightened beneath his bluff show. He’ll keep his mouth shut to protect himself. He must have demanded a heavy bribe for his part in this.” Then he turned to Lollie and asked, “Is he looking at us?”
“Yes, he’s come back around to the front of the cottage.”
“Good!”
“If he weren’t guilty, he wouldn’t have bothered watching us,” Lollie said.
I was beginning to understand that Robert had a plan. “I think Robert wants Isaiah to think we’re leaving, Lollie,” I said.
“Ah!” I felt, rather than saw, Lollie’s eyes narrow. “We’ll go on a ways, then sneak back and watch him,” he said.
“Exactly,” Robert said, “If Isaiah is as wide awake as I think, he’ll follow us to make sure we’re going away. We’ll continue to that dark patch of road where the elms conceal us, then go back.”
“That’s halfway home!” Lollie objected. It was more like a quarter of the way.
“Yes, we’ll have to move fast once we’re out of sight,” Robert replied unconcernedly.
We did as Robert said. When we felt the shadows of the elm afforded enough concealment, we stopped and looked behind us. Isaiah was just taking to his heels, heading across the road toward the church.
“That’s odd!” Robert exclaimed. “I thought he’d head for Chilton Abbas.”
“The Murrays’, you mean?” I asked.
“Yes. Where can he be going? Beau’s place is across that meadow.”
“Good God! You mean he’s working for Beau Sommers!” Lollie exclaimed. “And you’ve been in Beau’s pocket all along. He knows every move you’ve made.”
Robert didn’t confirm it, but
he didn’t deny it, either. I was surprised, but I could believe it of Beau. We ran like hares till my throat was dry and my lungs ached. By cutting through the field, we should have been able to see Isaiah as he got to the meadow. But when we had reached a point that showed us the whole scope of the meadow, from behind the church to a flat land of several hundred yards, there wasn’t a sign of him. No movement disturbed the rank grass. He hadn’t had time to reach the shepherd’s hut. The wily scamp had outsmarted us.
“Could he be hiding among the tombstones?” I suggested, as they were the only items large enough to conceal a small boy. The Hadleys’ tombstones, in particular, were quite large.
“Either that or he’s doubled back and headed to town,” Robert said.
We hastened toward the graveyard, keeping a sharp eye out for any untoward movement. At the graveyard we stopped and looked all around.
“I wager he’s gone back home,” Lollie said, pitching his voice low. “He knew we’d be watching and plans to wait another hour. We’ll hide and wait him out, eh, Renshaw?”
Robert replied in a whisper, “You do that. I’m going to take a run into town. On horseback, I’ll overtake him if he’s outsmarted us and is on his way to the Murrays’. May I borrow your mount, Talbot?”
“Certainly.”
We took one last look at the graveyard. The mound of earth that had been removed when Lord Harry was disinterred offered good concealment. I said nothing but just pointed to it.
Without a word Robert darted forward, crouching low to the ground. Accustomed to such exercises in the Peninsula, he went like lightning, his footfalls making no sound on the soft grass.
Lollie and I couldn’t keep pace, but we followed behind him. Apparently Isaiah hadn’t heard our approach, for when we got to the grave, he was busily stuffing the five- and ten-pound notes into his shirt-front. He wasn’t behind the earth mound but in the grave hole, sitting on one of the canvas bags of money with his feet in dirt to the ankles and rapidly emptying the other bag.
When he looked up and saw three faces peering at him, he licked his lips nervously and then grinned. He actually had the sangfroid to grin!
“Look what I found, Mr. Renshaw!” he said. “I do believe it’s the money that was stolen, ain’t it?”
Robert lifted him out of the hole by his shirt collar. Bills floated from his hands and shirt as he was hoisted up, feet kicking, oaths flying from his lips. Lollie grabbed the money as it flew, to return it to the canvas bags.
“Who are you working for?” Robert asked. “You’re for the gibbet if you don’t tell me.” He set Isaiah on terra firma but held on to his bony wrist. I had seen Robert’s lips quirk in a smile and knew his harshness was a charade to frighten Isaiah.
“You ain’t got nothing on me!” the whelp had the gall to say after being caught red-handed. “It ain’t agin the law to walk about the graveyard at night. I was following a rabbit.”
“How did you plan to catch it? You don’t have a gun,” Lollie said sternly.
“I didn’t plan to catch it. I was trying to find the nest, to take the young ‘ins. A dandy stew me ma makes out of a baby rabbit.”
“Too late for stories, Isaiah,” Robert said.
“Arrest me then. Take me off. See if I care. You’re only making a fool o’ yourself, mister.” He offered his bony wrists for manacles. “Go on. Arrest me! Take me to the roundhouse. I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like.”
“I’d rather have your cooperation,” Robert said.
“Come on, arrest me,” he taunted. “You can leave him to watch the loot.” He gave a contemptuous toss of his head toward Lollie.
“Let’s talk instead,” Robert said, and folded his arms in a patient attitude. The three of us formed a guard around the prisoner. “You can’t be too deeply involved. I think you were only used to remove the money from the cellar at Oakbay.”
“Was not! I told you, I was just out chasing rabbits when I happened to fall into this hole and found the money. I didn’t take none. You can’t say I did!”
As he spoke, he fished his hand under his shirt to make sure he had got rid of the last of the bills.
“You were stuffing it in your shirt when we got here,” Lollie charged.
“I was only going to take a few samples to McAdam to see if it was the stolen blunt. I should get the five hundred reward.”
I heard a muted gasp from Robert at this bold speech. Looking at him, I saw he was having difficulty suppressing an eruption of laughter. “That looks like coal dust on your cheeks,” Robert said. This was a bluff.
Isaiah’s face was so dirty he might have been a guerrilla himself.
“I help Jed Russell deliver coal all the time.” This was true—and he would certainly know about our coal chute.
“Shall we go?” Isaiah asked cockily. “I’m ready. What are we waiting for?” He turned and would have walked off to the roundhouse by himself if Robert hadn’t grabbed him.
“Your eagerness for the roundhouse surprises me,” Robert said blandly. “Why, it’s enough to make me think you’re eager to get us out of here before your cohorts stop by to pick up the loot. We shall stay, Isaiah.”
Isaiah gave him a look that would have melted forged steel, then wrenched himself loose and took off at a fine pace. He ran like the wind, but Robert’s legs were longer. He soon had the boy collared and dragged him back.
“Tie him up and gag him, Talbot,” Robert said. “We don’t want him making a racket when they come for the blunt.”
Tying Isaiah up was like trying to tie the wind. He squirmed and wriggled and shouted until Robert stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth. Isaiah promptly spat it out. Renshaw inserted it again and tied it in place with Lollie’s handkerchief, to prevent him from shouting to warn his cohorts. Robert, ready for any contingency, had ropes in his pocket with which they bound Isaiah’s hands and feet. When the poor boy was trussed up leg and wing like a chicken for the oven, they carried him off to the shadows at the back of the church.
Lollie was left in charge of him. Lollie would have preferred to remain at the grave for the arrest, but his chief insisted rather sternly that he guard Isaiah. By calling the boy “the prisoner” Robert convinced Lollie that his job was vastly important. And so it was. It wouldn’t take that little eel long to wiggle free if left unattended.
Chapter Seventeen
Robert and I, he with his pistol cocked and ready, waited behind the shoulders of a large monument to one of the deceased lords of Hadley. The fitful moon chose that moment to disappear behind a ragged drift of cloud. The frisson that shivered up my spine was due to the collection of headstones, each the last visible token of a spent life. Robert used the shiver as an excuse to put his arm around me.
“I shouldn’t have let you come,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” I replied, snuggling against his warmth.
A light chuckle echoed from his lips. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Amy?” Robert asked. “You didn’t remind me I had no authority to prevent your coming.”
“I took for granted you knew it by now. It was enjoyable, but you know I can’t help feeling sorry for Isaiah despite all.” I didn’t harp on it, lest Robert take it as criticism of his part in it. Naturally a criminal must be punished, and it was myself who had egged him on to accost Isaiah.
“It was the rascal’s pluckiness that struck me,” Robert replied. “He’s still a child but with the nerve of a canal horse. If I can convince him to cooperate, the law will go easy on him because of his age. And that will only turn him loose to continue his immoral way,” he said sadly. “Something should be done for him.”
To lighten the mood I said, “We haven’t had such excitement in the parish as tonight’s escapade since Beau’s bull got loose one market day and rampaged through Chilton Abbas. It overturned a carriage and three vegetable stalls.” An image of a younger Isaiah snatching up dusty cabbages and apples flew through my mind.
Robert lifted my chin with one finger and tilted my face up to his. Moonlight reflected in his eyes. We were so close I could feel his breath on my cheek.
“Pretty stiff competition!” he said. “But then I’m not really interested in upsetting carriages and carts. It’s only one young lady’s heart I hope to wreak havoc on.”
The arm holding me tightened, his other arm closed around me, and his lips lowered to mine in a sizzling kiss that warmed me through and through. As his lips burned on mine, something inside me swelled and grew, stirring an indescribable excitement that touched me to the deepest core of my being. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed tightly. I felt I’d fly off the ground if I didn’t hold on to something solid. It was that sort of kiss.
He lifted his head and gazed at me for a long moment, while neither of us said a word, yet I felt a perfect understanding was reached. I was grateful for the cool breeze that fanned my fevered brow. Then he kissed me again long and passionately. When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see that we were in the graveyard. I had forgotten the rest of the world.
“When this is over, Amy ...” he said in a husky, intimate tone. He stopped suddenly and shook his head.
“What? What were you going to say?” I asked eagerly.
“No, my wits are gone begging. Whoever heard of proposing in a graveyard? We shall wait until this is over.”
Well, at least he had used the word proposing. We wouldn’t have long to wait. A lightening of the sky in the east heralded the approach of dawn. I was still not certain who would come. Beau Sommers was still in the picture. He was always in need of money, and while I had never heard that he was one of Mrs. Murray’s flirts, it was possible. Or it might even be a stranger, some London thief. That would be the best of all.
It was no stranger who finally came. They arrived not in a carriage but in a donkey cart. To further confuse the issue, the lady wore trousers and a man’s jacket and curled beaver, as she had worn the night she put the money in the cellar of Oakbay. They drove the donkey cart right into the graveyard, up to the side of the grave, at which point the driver, a bulky man, tossed the reins to the lady dressed as a man and hopped out. The driver then lowered himself into the grave and with considerable difficulty hoisted one of the bags out.
