Smuggler's Moon sjf-8

by Bruce Alexander

  ”And if I may, sir,” Sir John added, ”I should like to introduce you to three of my Bow Street Runners-constables Bailey, Patley, and Perkins.” And so saying, he waved a hand in the precise direction where the three stood together beneath a great elm tree. ”They have come down from London at my invitation. Do make it clear, sir, to your servants and those who work for you, that these men speak for me in all matters to do with the law.”

  He bobbed his head, and at the same time touched his hat in a farewell salute. ”Now if you will pardon us, Sir Simon, we shall take our leave of you. A good day to you, sir.”

  For the rest of the day and for all of the next, the Sarton house was humming with the making of plans and preparations. To what end was kept secret from me, though I was fair certain that it was Sir John’s intention to strike that ”killing blow to the smuggling trade” of which he had spoken to Sir Simon Grenville.

  Endless conferences with the Runners who had come down from London were conducted behind closed doors. Another visit by that slippery individual, Dick Dickens, took place late at night and lasted well past midnight. And I was altogether astonished when, next morning, I was sent off to the heart of town to find Mick Crawly, the driver of the hackney coach.

  “Find him?” said I. ”What then?”

  “Why, fetch him,” said Sir John. ”Tell him I wish to speak with him.”

  I started to go, but then did I stop and turn about, thinking that I might save a bit of time and trouble for myself and for Sir John.

  “Perhaps I could take a message to him,” I suggested. ”If you wish to travel with him somewhere, just tell me where that might be and when you wish to depart. I shall tell him, and he will be here. He is, in that way, quite dependable.”

  “Jeremy, please, just fetch the fellow. The matter between us may take some discussion. It is not the sort of thing that may be handled with a message and a simple reply. Be a good lad, and do as I ask.”

  Yet still I hesitated. ”What if he asks what it is you wish to discuss with him?”

  “Then tell him he will learn that when he comes. Get on with you now. Do as I say.”

  And so, having little or no choice in the matter, I left forthwith for Broad Street I knew the way quite well. Indeed, in the space of time we had been in Deal, I had learned the shape of the town so well that I could have drawn a map of its center and erred little more than in a detail or two. Yet, of the surrounding region I knew very little.

  Even less did I know of the plan-or plans-that Sir John had made to trap the smugglers and put an end to the smuggling trade in Deal. In spite of hints I had dropped to the three London constables, I was coolly ignored. At the time, that did seem to me to be most cruel-particularly in that I counted two of the three among my close friends. And now it seemed that even one of the local hackney coach drivers was to know better than I just what was afoot. What was one to do?

  I was to do naught but what I was told, apparently.

  And so did I make my way along High Street in the direction of Broad Street-Broad Street, where the hackney coaches gathered in line to serve the travelers who arrived there from all points by post coach. Yet just as I arrived and spied Mr. Crawly’s sturdy coach at the head of the waiting line, my attention was drawn by a sound of an unusual sort coming from farther down High Street: it was a tune played on a trumpet-nay, a bugle call-which came from a small troop of mounted men who were making their way up High Street in my direction. They were colorfully and yet familiarly uniformed.

  Had I seen such before? Why, yes, indeed I had. They wore the colors of the King’s Carabineers and were the same mounted troopers who had aided Sir John in the apprehension of the Dutch ship, Dingendam, loaded to the gunwales with stolen treasures. The Bow Street Runners had challenged the ship’s captain, and when he attempted escape, the Carabineers had pursued the ship down the Thames. I knew whence they had come and where they were headed, and I was certain that if we were to fall in behind them, our short journey to the house in Middle Street would take very much longer, for already a crowd of townspeople (which included a full company of children) was gathering round them, cheering them on. I had near forgot that the cavalry was coming.

  I ran to Mr. Crawly, who stood, whip in hand, leaning against a wheel of the coach. I quickly explained the situation to him, and he responded by saying not a word, but by climbing up to his driver’s seat swift as a cat might scale a fence. Only then did he call to me.

  “Come along if you’re comin’, for we’ve not got a moment to spare.”

  Then was I up beside him, near as fast as he had got up there himself.

  “Hold on tight,” said he to me.

  With that, he cracked his whip into the air, and the four horses leapt forward as one. Off we went, round the corner and onto High Street only a bit before the King’s Carabineers themselves had arrived. There were fewer of them than I had at first realized-probably no more than the squad who had galloped down the Thames at Sir John’s order in pursuit of the Dingendam; and at their head I saw the same Lieutenant Tabor, who had led them on that chase.

  “Where are we headed?” asked Mr. Crawly.

  “To Middle Street-the magistrate’s house,” I shouted my reply.

  “That’s to pick somebody up? Just to Middle Street an’t much of a fare.”

  ”No, Sir John asked to see you. He says he has something to discuss with you.”

  “Discuss, is it? Sounds a bit hazardous. The last time a magistrate had a discussion with me, it cost me two days work and a five-shilling fine. That was the old magistrate, Mr. Kemp.”

  “Well, Sir John has no such intentions with you, I’m sure.”

  I noted that it was no longer necessary for me to shout. Turning round, I saw that the contingent of cavalry lagged considerably behind-had now, in fact, come to a halt somewhere near the Broad Street corner, so tightly surrounded were they by the enthusiastic citizens of Deal. As I watched, the bugler put his horn to his lips and played another tune.

  Middle Street was as I had left it, empty of all but two or three pedestrians who could be seen in the distance. I tried to imagine just how this quiet scene might look with the addition of horses and red-coated cavalrymen; yet try as I might I could not suppose them there.

  “Number Eighteen, is it?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Crawly.”

  And just then he pulled back on the reins, and as the horses slowed, he applied the brake. The judicious use of both brought us to an easy halt just at Number 18.

  I bounded down from the top of the coach and, with a promise to return just as soon as I might, left him and was admitted through the front door by Clarissa, who had been watching through a window, awaiting my return.

  “Is Sir John in that little room there?” I asked.

  “He is,” said she, ”but he’s with someone now.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said she in a rather airy manner. ”Never have I seen the man before. He’s certainly an unpleasant sort, however.”

  I could not think who that unpleasant man might be. Certainly we had met some in Deal who might fit that description, yet it seemed to me that Clarissa could put names to most of them.

  “Did Sir John ask that he not be disturbed?”

  “No, not so far as I remember.”

  “Well then,” said I, ”I’ll chance it.”

  And so saying, I beat stoutly upon the door to the little room. Hearing something not quite understandable called from inside, I chose to take it as an invitation to enter and threw open the door. There behind the desk was Sir John, exactly where I had left him; the expression upon his face was such that I had no need to fear I had displeased him by my sudden entry. Yet there was displeasure aplenty written upon the face of his guest, who was no less than the Chief Customs Officer for eastern Kent-that is to say, Mr. George Eccles. Mr. Eccles had done little since last they met at Lord Mansfield’s to endear himself to Sir John; the scowl upon his face made that
plain.

  “Ah, Jeremy, is it you?” asked Sir John. ”You may recall our previous encounter with Mr. Eccles?” I bowed politely as Sir John continued: ”He has been telling me of the sad outcome of his dealings with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. And I had just explained to him why it is that I sit here, rather than the duly appointed magistrate to the town of Deal. And he, I must say, seemed to dismiss the death of Mr. Sarton as a matter of little importance.”

  “Well, now,” said Mr. Eccles in that same sharp tone which recalled itself immediately to me, ”I did not say that exactly-no, I did not.”

  “And what did you say, sir?”

  “I believe I said that sad as it may be to hear of a life cut short as Mr. Sarton’s was, the town is no worse off for it. He was of little worth as a magistrate.”

  “I think it remarkable you should have said that, Mr. Eccles, for Sir Simon Grenville said much the same thing only yesterday. Tell me, sir, have you discussed this matter with Sir Simon?”

  “I may have,” said Mr. Eccles in a manner that could only be called hesitant. Then, in a more emphatic fashion: ”Well, yes I have-and what of it? Only yesterevening I dined with him and we discussed these matters thoroughly. He told me of your intemperate remarks at graveside. Naturally, I hope you succeed in your declared intention to find the murderer of Mr. Sarton, and as for your wish to wipe out the smuggling trade here in Deal, of course I’m for you there, too, though I doubt you’ll succeed. But let us be practical. Whether you do or don’t succeed, eventually you will leave here, Sir John, and return to London. Then it will fall to the leading citizens of Deal to choose a successor to the late Mr. Sarton. And when that time comes, there can be one and only one choice to be made for the office of magistrate.”

  “And what choice is that?” asked Sir John.

  “Why, Sir Simon himself, of course. He is the greatest landholder in this part of Kent. He can claim near a thousand acres. There are few in the county who have more.”

  “You feel that this qualifies him as a magistrate?”

  “Indeed I do. How much law, after all, must a magistrate know? With all due respect, Sir John, I believe you would admit that the answer to that would have to be …” Mr. Eccles paused for effect. ”Not a great deal.”

  “I daresay you’re right there,” said Sir John with an amused chuckle. ”But do you feel that justice is best served when the rich sit in judgment upon the poor?”

  “Why not? God has shown that he favors the rich by giving wealth to them. Why should he not also favor them with wisdom?”

  “There are, I know, some who feel as you do in such matters.”

  “Let me tell you, Sir Simon would have been magistrate here in Deal had not Lord Mansfield butted into the town’s affairs. It had all been arranged.”

  “How interesting.”

  “Then came a letter from Sir Simon’s friend, Lord Mansfield, asking his aid in securing that same appointment for a young fellow barely out of university. Of course he had no choice but-”

  At just that moment, reader, came the not-too-distant sound of a bugle. The King’s Carabineers were now quite near. Had Sir John heard the call? Of course he had. The shadow of a smile flickered across his face. As for Mr. Eccles, however, there could be not the slightest doubt that he had heard it clear. He leapt up from his chair and looked first at Sir John and then at me, as if one of us two had been the source of that unexpected tooting.

  “What was that?” he demanded. ”What was that sound?”

  “Why, I be damned if it did not sound like a trumpet, sir. Now, who would be playing a trumpet here in Deal in the middle of the day? Have you any idea, Jeremy?”

  “None at all, Sir John.” That seemed an appropriate answer under the circumstances.

  “But forgive me, lad,” said he to me. ”What was your purpose in knocking upon the door? As I recall, I sent you off on an errand, did I not?” (He knew very well on what errand he had sent me.)

  “Ah yes, you did sir. You said you had business with a Mr. Crawly and sent me off to fetch him.”

  “And have you done as I asked?”

  “I have, sir. Mr. Crawly awaits outside.”

  “Well done,” said Sir John, rising from his chair. ”Let us go and meet with Mr. Crawly, shall we? I’m sure Mr. Eccles and I have concluded our talk, have we not, sir?”

  “If that is your view, sir, then I daresay we have finished,” said Eccles in a manner rather sullen. ”I would not take up more of your valuable time.”

  Sir John, who had learned the room with no difficulty, squeezed round the desk and made it across the room to the door. There I offered him my arm, and we two waited that Mr. Eccles might exit before us. In truth, he had little choice.

  At the door to the street Clarissa awaited us, quite beside herself with excitement.

  “You’ve no idea what’s out there,” said she to one and all. ”You’d not get it right with a hundred guesses.”

  Sir John put a forefinger to his lips, asking for silence. Clarissa assented with a nod. Mr. Eccles, having heard thus much, sprang to the door and, unwilling to wait, threw it open and gasped at what he saw.

  “Good God,” he cried aloud, ”they’re here! The Chancellor of the Exchequer granted my petition, after all!”

  He was so transported by the congregation of horses and men just outside the door that for a moment or two all he could do was stand there in the doorway, his hands clasped before him, and gloat loudly, ”They’re mine, they’re mine.”

  He did, in fact, speak so loudly that he attracted the attention of a group of soldiers nearby. One of them turned round and looked curiously at Mr. Eccles and Sir John. It was not, however, until he separated himself from the rest and started toward us that I saw that the man who approached was Lieutenant Tabor, who had played a role in the Dingendam matter. He gave a casual salute and proceeded to address Sir John.

  “We are perhaps a little later than expected, sir. For that I beg your pardon most sincerely, but we-”

  As this was said, Mr. Eccles began, subtly at first, to intrude himself into Lieutenant Tabor’s line of vision. By the time I did notice, he seemed truly to be attempting to elbow Sir John aside.

  “Young man … uh, lieutenant,” said he, ”I believe you’ve made a mistake. It’s me you wish to address, if I’m not mistaken. My name-as you will see if you check your orders-is George Eccles. I am the Chief Customs Officer for eastern Kent.”

  “Oh no, sir, I fear not, sir,” said Lieutenant Tabor. ”I know my orders well, and they direct me to Sir John Fielding at this house in Middle Street-Number Eighteen.”

  “But-”

  “And indeed I know Sir John well enough, for I assisted him in another matter quite recently, and so you see, sir, I have made no mistake.”

  “Now, don’t be impertinent, young man.”

  “I was not aware of any impertinence on my part, sir.”

  “But you should be aware that I submitted a request to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, no less, for just such a mounted contingent as this one here. And so it stands to reason, does it not, that this must be my mounted contingent? Don’t you understand? I need cavalry to chase the smugglers. I can only conclude that the orders you have been given were wrong. Mistaken. Misdirected.”

  All through this wrangle, during which Mr. Eccles grew increasingly strident in his representations, Sir John had listened with an amused smile upon his face, saying nothing. Yet during this last speech the smile faded. What seemed to offend was Eccles’s assertion that because the lieutenant’s orders were not as he would have them, then the orders must be wrong. This was simply too much for Sir John. It was, of a sudden, time to lodge a protest.

  “Enough!” said he with a great shout, which silenced all. ”Mr. Eccles, your argument is pure nonsense. You tell Lieutenant Tabor to forget his orders because they are not consonant with your desires. Well, that, sir, is nonsense and not near good enough. If you hope to have your way, then you must write to t
he Chancellor of the Exchequer, explain the situation, and get from him some written document that is endorsed by the Commander of the Tower which states that these particular troops are transferred to your command. Until you can present such, you are to trouble neither me, nor the lieutenant, nor any of his men further. Good day to you, sir.”

  Mr. Eccles did not respond to that, though it was not for want of trying. He stood rigid and red-faced, stuttering and sputtering, unable to complete or even begin a sentence. Thus did he for a minute, or maybe even two, as Sir John waited most patiently. At last, however, Eccles surrendered to circumstance, turned, and beat a swift retreat down Middle Street. Looking after him, the lieutenant permitted himself a smile. From his men, however, who had listened carefully to all that was said, a few chuckles and snorts were heard.

  Sir John listened to Eccles’s footsteps fade, then did he call out to the assemblage: ”Mr. Crawly, will you please come forward?”

  And so did the driver of the hackney work his way through the assemblage of men and horses to greet Sir John most respectfully.

  “What will you, sir?” he asked. ”Where can I take you?”

  “Nowhere for now, though I do have a proper and important journey for you.”

  “From here to where?”

  “From here to the residence of Sir Simon Grenville. I want you to lead this small troop of mounted Carabineers up there that they may pitch their tents upon his front lawn and water their horses in the brook that runs through it.” He paused to think a moment. ”I did hear a brook up there on our approach to his door, did I not, Jeremy?”

  “You did, Sir John,” said I.

  “That should do nicely, don’t you think so, lieutenant?” ”Oh, well enough, I’m sure,” responded Lieutenant Tabor.

  “Though I must ask you to remain here with me, whilst I explain to you our situation here. You may join your men later. And you, Mr. Crawly-”

  “Yes sir?”

  ”I would have you return here once you have the Carabineers situated in Sir Simon’s great dooryard, for we shall have further need of you, the lieutenant and I. We three have plans to make.”