The Fortune-Hunter

by Julia Herbert

  “Hey-day! A very cool tone indeed! I had never imagined so much icy realism in your nature, Amy.”

  His response puzzled her even more. He seemed to be speaking almost entirely at random. But then, she reminded herself, he had been drinking. The taint of spirits was still quite strong in the room. She decided not to try to make sense of the strange remarks about icy realism and go on with her plea.

  “Papa would be pleased,” she pointed out. “I think it has hurt him very much that you did not come to his help at first—oh, I don’t mean to reproach you. I quite understand that you were made nervous by the atmosphere of menace that surrounded us. But Bernard said—”

  “It was very wrong of me,” her uncle agreed with a little tilt of his head. His expression was strange, almost amused. “I am prepared to make amends now by doing all I can, but you mustn’t imagine that I am able to career about the country like your young knight errant—”

  “Of course not, sir, that would be inappropriate and unnecessary.” After all, she told herself, Jeffrey could still take the lead in all the activity; Uncle Pierce would be most useful in offering experience, and knowledge of local dignitaries. “So it is settled, then? You will help to prepare my father’s defence?”

  “I’ll do what I can, Amy. As soon as the countryside has settled down a little I’ll go to Winchester to see him.”

  “Thank you.” She paused. “I think, though, that the countryside is as settled as it is likely to be for a long time—”

  “Nonsense! This recent attack has set the whole population in a flutter.”

  “What attack is that, Uncle Pierce? I don’t quite understand you.”

  “You haven’t heard?” His bushy grey eyebrows went up. “Then I don’t quite see—” He broke off to study her for a moment or two. “Your request to me for help seemed to imply that you had been given the news, but then—perhaps you didn’t connect one event with the other.”

  “What event, sir? You are talking in riddles!”

  “You haven’t heard the second item, obviously. The Custom House at Poole has been broken open and the Pegmen have got all their confiscated goods back. They are now marching at leisure back to their homes, with various bundles of contraband. That is what I meant when I said the countryside was unsettled.”

  Amy was aghast. “They dared to do that?” she cried. “It actually happened? Jeffrey said they never would dare.”

  “Jeffrey has been proved wrong, in this as in other matters,” he replied with a glint of satisfaction.

  But the naval sloop? How could they dare attack the Custom House with naval guns directed upon them?” Because, my dear Amy, they chose their time with great good sense. At about nine o’clock this morning, the tide was full out, leaving Poole basin a sea of mud. The sloop was stuck in it like a wasp in honey. Her guns could not be brought to bear on the shore.”

  She shook her head in dismay at the picture he conjured up. “How dreadful!” she gasped. “And yet ... We ought to have foreseen this...” She let her mind run over the conversations she had had with Jeffrey on this matter. “It was perplexing that the Pegmen seemed to be gathering for a stroke of some kind even though the Nymph was on patrol. Now, of course, everything is explained. They had realised they were safe at low tide.” She threw up her hands in annoyance. “Oh, one would have thought the captain would realise that, too!”

  “Perhaps he did. But you know, my love, these rascals have friends everywhere, even in the Navy. Doubtless some clumsy mariner mishandled the steering or the mooring when there was full water in the harbour, so that just enough tilt was given to the decks to make the guns point skywards ...” Uncle Pierce chuckled. “Forgive me, my dear, but it has a comic side!”

  “Not to the men who risked their lives to capture that contraband cargo from the smugglers,” she countered. “And the dragoons—what are they doing as the Pegmen march across country?”

  “Well-a-day, there’s another disaster! They’re on quite the wrong side of the district. By the time they’ve been marched from Milford, the contrabandists will be safe away with their belongings.”

  “Their belongings! You speak as if they had some right to those goods, whereas the tea and brandy and lace were brought into the country illegally—had been confiscated by the crew of the Swift. Oh, how Papa will be vexed when he hears of it!”

  Uncle Pierce was still chuckling a little. “ ’Pon my soul, Amy, if your father had been less busy in vexing himself over such things, he wouldn’t be where he is today!”

  “You see something amusing in it?” she exclaimed.

  “Forgive me, my dear.” He recovered his gravity. “But after all, who is hurt if the free-traders bring in a cargo or two? Why need he have been so strong against them?”

  “Who is hurt? Why, Uncle Pierce, you have had this discussion with him many times and agreed with his conclusions. We are all hurt, are we not? The whole countryside is kept in a state of fear so that these men can bring in their shipments.”

  “Nonsense! No one need be in fear. All that’s needed is a little discernment about where it’s safe to go and what it’s safe to see.”

  “You yourself have said it—safety! We are none of us safe while these men flout the laws.”

  “The laws against the importation of tea and spirits are stupid—”

  “If they are stupid, then they should be changed,” Amy said with warmth. “And if they are to be changed, they should be dealt with in Parliament—not by terrorising farmers and cottagers or bribing officials. Parliament is the place to argue out this problem, as my father has always maintained.”

  “Faith, you are as foolish as he is, child,” her uncle said in a terse manner. “I’ve no patience with you.”

  “You cannot be serious in exonerating the Pegmen? You cannot condone their marching about the district after breaking open one of His Majesty’s warehouses?”

  “Let us not discuss it. We shall only disagree.”

  “Ye-es,” she said after a momentary pause. “I am surprised to find that you say something quite different to me now from what you used to say to Papa.”

  “Ah well—your papa is out of the way now, is he not?” All at once she looked at him with the keenest attention. His cheeks flushed with drink, his eyes glittering with satisfaction, the amusement he had shown when describing the humiliation of the naval contingent, the views he had just been expressing with considerable conviction...

  “That was what you were celebrating,” she murmured. “The stroke of good business that had pleased you was the freeing of the contraband from the Custom House!”

  “Now, now, let us forget the whole thing.”

  “You had money invested in that cargo—is that it? And now instead of a loss you will make a profit?”

  “Amy, let us not speak of it. I’m sorry if I allowed my sense of humour to get the better of me. I’m an old man, you know. I must be allowed some eccentricities.”

  “Of course!” she went on, disregarding him. “Now I understand why Timothy Benworth was here when I arrived. He had just brought you the news of the attack at Poole.”

  “My dear, you are leaping to conclusions—”

  “No, no! A hundred little things begin to come together!” Her voice rose as utter conviction began to take hold of her. “Beau Gramont, by his own admission, was involved in the smuggling trade, but Jeffrey always said he didn’t have enough brains to direct the work.”

  “It’s unfair to accuse Gramont,” Pierce broke in. “He is dead and can’t defend himself against the charge.”

  “Faith, he admitted the charge!”

  “To whom, child? What nonsense is this?”

  “He told my father on the night of the quarrel—in fact, that was what the quarrel was about.”

  “Ah,” said Pierce, sitting back in his chair with an air of regret. “Too bad. I hoped he would say nothing about that, seeing that Beau warned him how it would grieve you if Bernard were arrested too.”

&
nbsp; “It was his intention to say nothing,” Amy replied, “but Jeffrey Maldon persuaded him to speak.”

  “Truly, that gentleman has been quite a thorn in our flesh. It would have been far better if your father had gone to his death with that secret still preserved.”

  “Better?” she gasped. “Better if Papa died?”

  “Now, Amy, I didn’t mean it like that,” her godfather reproved, “you know I did not. I never wanted to harm George. I am not a man of violence—”

  “Oh no,” she interrupted in scorn. “You leave the violence to others! In this case, you would have let the law get rid of the man who has taken action to prevent your smuggling activities.”

  “You are angry about it,” he said, nodding, “and it isn’t to be wondered at. But consider how long I protected him! For a dozen years and more all went well. I was able to get forewarning of any scheme he was planning—”

  “Yes, through spies in his own home!”

  “Well, was that not better than having to have him killed? Ah, many times that course was urged on me, but I refused, Amy—after all, he was my friend.”

  “Your friend?” she cried. “Have you any idea of the meaning of the word? Have you any conception of right and wrong?”

  “I know what is right for me, child—that’s what’s important. I haven’t survived in this harsh world for more than sixty-nine years without learning how to pursue my own advantage. And all might have gone well for years to come, if only that fool Gramont could have resisted his clever little joke about the Swift. I saw suspicion dawn in your father’s face that night when he heard Gramont’s words. Can you imagine how I felt at that moment, Amy? After all the years of keeping the simpleton safe from his own obtuse acts of virtue, I knew I should be forced to silence him.”

  “What did you plan to do?” she inquired in a hard voice. “Kill him?”

  “I had to consider it. But then the necessity was removed when Stephen Boles came running to me soon after midnight with the news that Gramont had babbled to your papa, and that Boles had made sure Gramont would never be arrested and questioned by government men by simply putting an end to him there and then. Almost at that very moment I saw how it could be turned to our advantage.”

  “By making sure the jury at the inquest was primed to bring in a verdict of murder against Papa—an inquest conducted by you, the man he had trusted his business affairs to for twenty years!”

  “Spare me your reproaches, child. I did what I had to do.”

  “I don’t understand your reasoning,” she replied in a tone of horror. “In what way were you forced to trap him?”

  “I have a network of workers depending on me, Amy. I could not let George endanger all that I had built up. If he had talked—and been believed—I might have suffered a great financial loss.”

  “You will suffer more than that! The penalty for smuggling is hanging.”

  “Oh, I shan’t suffer, my dear,” he said with tolerance. “I never allow events to fall out so that I suffer.”

  “I think you will find that you are about to enter on a different era,” she said, getting up. “Your days of supremacy are over.”

  “Nonsense. I intend to go on as before, for many years.”

  “Not when I tell what I have just learned.”

  “Really? To whom shall you tell it? What proof shall you present?”

  “I shall report everything you have said, word for word—”

  “And I shall deny it.”

  “Then we’ll see which of us will be believed! I can gather proof—”

  “My dear Amy, you’ll do nothing. Now that you’re alone, the world will understand that grief and anxiety have affected your reason.”

  “Oh, you mean that I will be classed with poor Mrs. Gramont? Out of my senses?” She tossed her head as she moved towards the door. “You forget I have a helper who will know that I am quite sane, and who will know how to handle the knowledge that you have just given me.”

  “Are you speaking of Bernard?” Pierce interrupted. “He will do nothing to help you. He is only waiting for the day when your father will be safely hanged!”

  She was shocked into standing still. “Bernard? Bernard is in this with you? I don’t believe you!”

  “I see you still have some fondness for him—”

  “Why not? We have been friends—” She broke off. “But I have just been learning how little friendship means. Yes, and now I think of it, Bernard has acted as your messenger, has he not? Running to me with your slurs and aspersions on Mr. Maldon—trying to drive us apart so that I should be friendless! It’s true, I once asked the question myself—why should Bernard dislike Mr. Maldon so...”

  “Bernard is a great baby,” Pierce said impatiently. “His one concern is to look after his mother, who really is in a very bad way, poor soul. Now that his father is gone he turns to me for advice and guidance.”

  “And will he take over the role that Beau Gramont used to fill?” she demanded, thinking with dismay that Bernard’s spendthrift ways would make him an easy target for Pierce’s machinations.

  “By no means. Beau was always a nuisance—I only put up with him and his womanising because we needed the cellars at Parall to hide our goods. That was why he came here, you know. I could see great possibilities in the grounds at Parall, but it would have been quite unsuitable for a country lawyer like myself to buy such a house. So I brought Beau to the district—and then when, like every new owner, he began having ‘improvements’ made to the grounds, no one thought it strange. No, no, Bernard has inherited the house, but that is all he has inherited. He never took any part in our activities except to help spend the profits. I think the best plan will be to offer him a good price for the house and then move someone else in.”

  “I am thankful to hear it,” she said. “Even now, I shouldn’t feel happy to bring trouble upon Bernard.”

  ‘Oh, my child, do please stop talking nonsense! You are not in a position to bring trouble upon anyone. You may cause a little stir at first with your accusations, but people in authority soon become weary of ladies with tales of woe to tell.”

  “But they will listen to Mr. Maldon.”

  The old man stared at her from faded blue eyes. “Mr. Maldon?”

  “Yes, and pray don’t trouble to make your usual claims that he is a fortune-hunter or a trouble-maker. I understand now that from the first you needed to turn me against him so that he would be dismissed from the case, thus making my father’s death almost certain. But you’ve failed there, as you’ll fail in any scheme to cast doubt on him when he acts on what I am going to tell him. He’ll put you in the dock, Mr. Pierce!”

  “I don’t think so, Amy,” he responded in a strange tone.

  “You’ll see!” she cried, full of confidence. “With what you have told me, he’ll find some means of—”

  “No, he won’t, my love.”

  “But he will! He is clever and quick—cleverer even than you, Mr. Pierce!”

  “His cleverness will avail you nothing, my poor child. He will never do anything for you again.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly the stuffy room seemed like a tomb, the panelled walls were closing in like the sides of a coffin.

  “What do you mean?” she gasped.

  He took a moment to reply. “Faith, we’ve been at cross purposes from the beginning,” he muttered. “Do you think I’d have talked so freely to you if that young Galahad of yours was likely to hear of it? But mind you, I was a little surprised by the coolness with which you accepted the situation.”

  “Situation? What situation?”

  “Naturally when you asked me to take over your father’s affairs again, I thought you knew that our good Mr. Maldon had left the scene.”

  “But where has he gone?” she blurted out, childish in her bewilderment.

  “Where, indeed?” Pierce pointed with a wrinkled finger. “Above or below? Who can tell? It all depends whether he has led a good life, does i
t not? But perhaps you could influence the direction of his journey, my love, if you believe in the power of prayer. I think there's still time for a few well-directed pleas to the Almighty on his behalf.”

  “What?” she cried, her senses whirling. “Speak plain, Uncle Pierce! Don't play games with me—not on this! Where is Jeffrey? What has happened to him?”

  The old man got up from his chair and came to her. “Sit down, child. Why, you've gone as white as a sheet.”

  “Don't touch me!” She sprang away from his outstretched arm. “Don’t touch me, you evil, wicked man! What have you done to Jeffrey?”

  “I? I have done nothing, Amy. I told you—I am not a man of violence. But he has caused a great deal of annoyance to my friends, and when they saw an opportunity of getting rid of him it was too great a temptation. Tim Benworth was just reporting that to me as you arrived.”

  Amy’s mind could scarcely take in what he was saying. “You—were laughing!” she faltered. “I heard you—while I was sitting in the hall!”

  “Aye, well, to me it is a matter of amusement, you see, my dear. It’s such an inglorious end for one so tall and imposing! Rather like Swift's Gulliver, you know—roped up on the beach—”

  “No!” Amy screamed. “No, you could not—you could not!”

  “But I'm afraid they have, Amy. You know it’s their favourite way of making an example of their enemies. And Maldon has been an enemy to us—oh yes, troublesome and clever. This scheme of his to follow Nancy Saythe to Poole so that he could find Little Stephen—’twas a famous notion. But nothing Mr. Maldon did escaped our observation, Amy. We had learned that he was to be reckoned with. And so Tim tells me they knocked him on the head outside the Clasped Hands and brought him back with them as they marched away from Poole until they found a suitable spot on the beach—”