Sophie was scarlet with embarrassment. She had not expected such forthright speaking from any man. Now she realised that Hatton was furious. His honour had been impugned. No gentleman would take advantage of a sleeping woman.
‘Please stop!’ she cried. She wanted to cover her ears, but she knew that it would bring fresh sarcasm upon her head. ‘I’ve heard enough! I do believe you.’
Hatton was not finished. ‘I suppose I should be flattered by your estimation of my prowess with the ladies. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but dalliance, I find, requires a disproportionate amount of energy. I have neither the time nor the inclination for it at the present time. There are more important matters to attend. May I suggest that you try to remember them?’
Sophie could have struck him. ‘I do remember it,’ she said in icy tones. ‘Perhaps you have forgotten that I have been widowed and my son has lost his father?’
Hatton did not reply and her fury grew.
‘What a creature you are!’ she cried. ‘I’m not surprised that you are still unwed. You are the most insulting, arrogant, selfish man I’ve ever known.’
Hatton bowed again. ‘Your assessment of my character is not original, madam. My mother echoes your sentiments at frequent intervals.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Sophie turned away.
‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.
‘Do I need your permission to return to my room?’
‘Feathers still ruffled?’ Hatton was unperturbed. ‘I think we must call a truce, my dear. I shall need your help this morning.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘I propose to try a certain experiment.’ He strolled across the room and pulled at the bell-rope. When Matthew appeared he was asked for the keys to the cellar.
Sophie was only half-attending to the conversation. She’d planned to cut out flannel shirts for Kit as the weather was still too poor for her to take her daily walk.
She had no idea what Hatton had in mind, but if he wished to inspect the cellars he could do it without her. He must know the place quite well. After all, he owned it.
Then she heard an odd note in Matthew’s voice. It was unlike him to prevaricate.
Sophie looked at his face and was surprised to see that he was very pale.
‘If you should wish for a particular wine, sir, I’ll fetch it for you at once,’ he said uneasily.
‘Just the key, Matthew, if you please.’
Still Matthew hesitated. The gentleman had paid his overdue wages, and for that he must be grateful, but what could he want in the cellars? Mr Hatton, to his knowledge, had no connection with the running of the inn. It was Mistress Firle to whom he was responsible. He threw her a pleading look.
‘What is it, Matthew? Are you not well?’ Sophie looked at him more closely and was surprised to see a strange expression in his eyes. She could think of no reason for it, but the man was obviously terrified.
‘Have you found rats down there?’ she asked. ‘We’ll send down the terriers to clear them out if that is what is worrying you.’
‘No, ma’am, it isn’t that. Perhaps if the gentleman will tell me what he wants, I can get it for him.’
‘Matthew, I asked you for the keys. Your mistress wishes to check the stock of wines and spirits. As you know, she intends to re-open the inn within a day or two.’
Matthew’s sigh of relief was almost audible. ‘If that’s all, sir, I can give my mistress the cellar book. It’s all in order. She won’t find a single bottle missing…’
Hatton looked across at Sophie and she understood him at once. He intended to inspect the cellars in spite of Matthew’s clear reluctance to hand over the keys, and his injured expression.
‘You must not think that I don’t trust you, Matthew,’ she soothed. ‘But Mr Hatton is concerned about the conditions under which we keep the wines. We’ve had such heavy rains, and there may be a danger of flooding. Now, bring me the keys and we’ll go down together.’
Matthew dared not argue further, but he didn’t return himself. It was Fraddon, the new cellarman, who brought the keys.
Hatton motioned to Sophie to accompany him. In his hand he held a lantern of curious appearance which he shone ahead of him as he descended the steep flight of steps down to the cellars. Then he nodded to his man to light the oil lamps set at frequent intervals in the walls.
As the clear light flooded the cellars, Sophie looked about her. She could see nothing to account for Matthew’s uneasiness. The barrels were neatly stacked along three of the walls, whilst the fourth and longest held a series of wine racks which reached from floor to ceiling.
‘All seems to be in order here,’ she observed. ‘There was no need for you to badger Matthew.’
‘No?’ Sophie heard an ugly laugh. ‘Then let me show you!’
Hatton walked swiftly to the middle section of the racks, pulled out two of the bottles and slid his hand into the aperture.
Sophie gasped as a part of the high rack swung towards her revealing not the brickwork which she had expected to see, but a massive wooden door.
‘The key?’ Hatton looked at Fraddon.
The man removed another bottle, felt behind the rack and handed an iron key to his master.
Then Sophie heard an anguished cry as Matthew thrust her aside. With his back to the door he spun round to face Hatton.
‘Don’t open it!’ With arms spread-eagled, he tried to cover the lock. ‘You’ll get us killed!’
Hatton put him aside without the slightest difficulty.
‘Stand back!’ he ordered sternly. ‘You have much to answer for, I think.’
Matthew’s face was working. ‘What could I do?’ he whispered. ‘Master, you don’t know—’
‘Perhaps I don’t, but I intend to find out!’ Hatton inserted the key into the lock, and the door swung back on well-oiled hinges. Then he shone the lantern ahead of him.
Sophie was close upon his heels and she gasped in astonishment as they entered yet another cellar of which she’d had no previous knowledge. It was very large, and the goods which it contained were strange to her. Much of the floor space was piled high with oilskin bags, filled to capacity. The kegs which filled the rest of the store were much smaller than a beer barrel.
Long ropes with iron hooks attached hung from the walls, as did an implement which bore a close resemblance to Kit’s fishing rod, apart from the odd-looking pincers at the tip.
Then she shuddered. Stacked in one corner lay a heap of cutlasses. Shining in the lamplight they looked well-greased and ready for their murderous task. There were firearms too, and a great pile of heavy wooden staves.
Sophie swallowed hard. ‘I don’t understand,’ she faltered. ‘Is this some kind of store?’
‘You might say that!’ Hatton told her grimly. He turned to the trembling Matthew. ‘Where do the tunnels lead?’
Matthew’s resistance was broken. ‘As far as the first copse on the hill,’ he muttered. ‘That’s the entrance.’
Sophie was horrified. ‘Oh, Matthew, do you mean to say that anyone could have entered whilst we slept?’
‘No, ma’am. All the doors are bolted from this side. It ain’t possible to get in through the tunnels.’
‘Then that must mean…?’ Sophie was thinking fast. Someone from inside the inn must have opened up the entrance to allow the smugglers access to their store. ‘Who could have—?’
Hatton cut her short. ‘This is not the place for a discussion,’ he said brusquely. He turned on his heel and led the way out of the cellars.
The others were subdued as he settled himself behind a table in the parlour, and Sophie was unaccountably annoyed. Hatton was not a magistrate, and he must not behave as such.
Her fears were confirmed when he spoke to the unfortunate Matthew.
‘You have much to answer for, have you not?’ he enquired coldly. ‘Why did you not see fit to inform your mistress when you realised what was happening here?’
‘That were down to m
e, sir!’
Sophie turned to find Bess standing in the doorway with arms akimbo. She looked fully capable of taking on the redoubtable Mr Hatton and a dozen like him.
‘I see. Won’t you sit down, Bess?’ Hatton rose and indicated a chair.
‘No, I won’t, sir, if it’s all the same to you.’ Bess was not to be mollified by such courtesy. ‘My Matthew had naught to do with any of this. It was me that found out what was going on.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘It was quite a while ago. Matt had a putrid throat. He was coughing, so I came down very late to fetch him a hot drink. I saw ’em then.’
‘But, Bess, who did you see?’ Sophie persisted. ‘Was it someone who used to work for us?’
‘No, ma’am, it weren’t…’ Some of Bess’s belligerence had vanished. ‘I’d rather not say…’
‘Quite right, Bess!’ Hatton was quick to intervene. ‘You followed them, then, right into the cellars? That was a dangerous thing to do.’
‘I know it, Master. A worse band o’ cut-throats I never did see. I told Matt that we must never speak o’ they cellars, but he would find out for hisself.’
Bess paused and then she turned to Sophie. ‘If you think that we done wrong, Mistress Firle, you won’t want us to stay. We can be out of here by morning.’ Her lips were trembling, but she stood her ground.
‘Oh, Bess, I wouldn’t think of letting you go!’ Sophie threw her arms about her servant. ‘You were not to blame. You found out these things by chance, but I do wish that you would tell us the name of the person whom you saw that night.’
‘I can’t!’ By now Bess was weeping openly.
Hatton signalled to Matthew to take his wife away.
‘I hope you are satisfied,’ Sophie gritted out as the door closed behind them. ‘You have succeeded in upsetting two kindly people who have become involved through no fault of their own. In future you will leave my servants alone.’
She had expected a sharp retort, but as Hatton looked at her she saw a curious expression in his eyes. Could it be sadness? Surely not? To hide her perplexity she picked up the oddly-shaped lantern.
‘How did you know of the hidden cellar?’ she continued. ‘Was it because of this strange object? I imagine it is something to do with the smuggling fraternity, for I have not seen its like before. It looks more like a watering-can than a lamp and for all the light it sheds it might as well be so.’
Hatton took it from her. ‘It serves its purpose well,’ he told her. ‘This is a spout lantern, used for signalling out to sea. The long spout prevents the light from being seen on land. The opening at the end is uncovered briefly to send messages in code.’
‘Where did you find it? Did it lead you to look for the second cellar?’
‘Fraddon found it hidden behind some barrels, but I’ve always known of the second cellar. Don’t forget that I own this place.’
‘I’m unlikely to forget it, since you lose no opportunity to remind me,’ Sophie replied bitterly. ‘If you knew of the secret place, why did you feel the need to torment Matthew? Did it give you pleasure to frighten him?’
‘It gave me not the slightest pleasure,’ came the cool reply. ‘But I had to know if Matthew was involved with the smuggling gangs. He was hiding something. That was obvious. He was already badly scared. I had to know why.’
‘Well, now you do know!’ Sophie said with some asperity. ‘I hope you’re satisfied.’
‘Your loyalty does you credit, ma’am. It does not encourage me to trust you. In defence of your friends, you would help them bury a body, I believe.’
‘Yes, I would!’ she told him boldly. ‘But this is nonsense. There is no question of burying a body—’
‘As a mere figure of speech!’ Hatton said in some amusement. He pulled at the bell-rope to summon Matthew once again.
‘Tell me what you wish to know and I will question Matthew.’ Sophie was determined to save her servant from further brutal interrogation.
‘With your permission, I will speak to him alone. I think that you should leave us, Mistress Firle—’
‘Certainly not! I shouldn’t think of it.’
‘Very well, if that is your decision. I hope you won’t regret it.’
Matthew entered the room before she could reply. She looked at him in alarm. Matthew seemed to have aged before her eyes.
Hatton spoke without preamble. ‘I want the truth from you,’ he said. ‘When was this last cargo delivered to the cellar? Don’t try to gammon me by saying you knew nothing of it. I won’t believe you.’
Matthew crumpled. ‘I ain’t a free trader,’ he whispered. ‘It was naught to do wi’ me.’
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ Sophie intervened. ‘We don’t suspect you, Matthew, but you must tell Mr Hatton everything you know.’
‘Well, ma’am, once I knew of the cellar I kept an eye on it. Sometimes it was empty, and sometimes full. I ’ad to be careful, you understand, but the place was quiet in day time.’
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Hatton said coldly. ‘That last cargo…when was it delivered?’
Matthew looked at Sophie and encouraged by her nod he was persuaded to reply.
‘It was just afore the Master died, begging your pardon, ma’am, for reminding you of your trouble. That cellar had been empty for weeks aforehand, as if it had been cleared a-purpose for something special.’
‘Special indeed!’ Hatton muttered almost to himself. He turned again to Matthew. ‘Since then you have not been approached?’
Matthew looked baffled. ‘Approached, sir? You mean—?’
‘I mean has anyone requested to inspect the cellars, perhaps on the pretext of buying up your stocks of wines and spirits?’
Matthew frowned as he tried to recollect. ‘We’ve had one gentleman,’ he admitted. ‘Don’t you remember, Mistress Firle? You refused to see him…’
‘Yes, I recall. I had no interest in his offer. Matthew, is this all you know? As I understand it, the door of the cellar can only be opened from inside the inn. You must have seen who used the key?’
For some reason this question troubled Matthew more than any that had gone before. He kept his eyes fixed on the carpet and his mouth was set in a tight line, but his hands were shaking.
‘Won’t you tell me, please?’ Sophie pleaded.
Matthew shook his head.
‘I’ll tell you, ma’am!’ Again, Bess was standing in the doorway. ‘Sorry I am to say it, but it were the Master.’
Sophie glanced at Hatton and knew what she had to do.
‘Oh, no!’ she cried. ‘That can’t be true!’
‘As true as I’m standing here, Mistress Firle. Yon gentleman weren’t all you thought him, though I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead.’
Sophie turned away as Hatton dismissed her servants, on the pretext that she had suffered serious shock.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘Of course Richard let the smugglers in,’ Sophie insisted. ‘Was he not supposed to be a member of their gang?’
‘He was!’ Hatton did not look at her. ‘Have you any idea of the value of that cargo in the cellar?’
‘I couldn’t begin to guess, since I don’t know what it is. Those bundles wrapped in oilskin? What were they?’
‘That was tobacco, ma’am, protected from immersion in the sea. Did you not see the grappling hooks? Our friends are in the habit of “sowing a crop” as they term it. They sink the cargo beneath a marked spot when threatened by the preventive officers. Then they collect it later. They do the same with the ankers.’
‘Ankers? I do not know that term.’
‘You saw them in the cellar. They are the small tubs of wines and spirits.’
‘There were so many of them,’ Sophie mused. ‘The cargo must have been huge…worth many thousands of pounds?’
‘A fair assessment, madam.’
Sophie had been thinking fast. ‘I understand you now,’ she said. ‘The goods in the c
ellar are the bait, are they not? You believe that the smugglers won’t give up the opportunity to continue with their operation?’
‘Something like that,’ Hatton agreed. ‘Too much money is at stake here. They won’t let it go.’
Sophie stared at him. ‘What will happen now?’ she asked.
‘I think you may expect an approach. I can’t tell you from which direction, or how it will be phrased. All I ask is that you be on your guard. Whatever is suggested to you, you will show reluctance to agree.’
‘That won’t be difficult!’ she told him grimly.
‘I don’t expect it will, but remember, you will be surprised and shocked to learn that goods have been stored here in a cellar of which you had no previous knowledge. You will protest that it can’t possibly be so. When it is proved to you, you will be terrified, fearing that the authorities will learn of the contraband. As you know, the penalties for smuggling are savage.’
Sophie swallowed hard. ‘Transportation?’ she breathed.
‘That, or death! Your terror will seem natural enough.’
‘You are convinced that they will come here?’
‘Nothing is more certain. Someone made a serious mistake in killing your husband before the goods could be moved. If I’m not mistaken, there are certain gentlemen in London impatient for their profits on that cargo. Their initial outlay would have been enormous.’
Sophie was very pale. ‘Would it not be simpler for them to kill me too?’
Hatton’s smile transfigured his face. ‘And lose a possible ally? No, my dear! They will know you to be in need of money. If they can get you on their side with soft words and promises, so much the better for them. The trade will resume as if nothing had happened.’
His hands rested lightly on her shoulders as he turned her to face him. ‘Above all, you must be on your guard. They must not suspect a trap. Can you do it?’
‘I can…if you…’
‘Yes, Mistress Firle. I shall be here.’
Meg Alexander Page 9
