by P. N. Elrod
“Smugglers, is it?” They preferred a pitch-dark night for landing goods on shore. Any fellow with a lamp would be looked upon unkindly by such free-traders, often to the point of violence. Indeed, it was said that the lamplighters, unable to make a wage, were themselves in on the smuggling. “I’m positive we do, but the family estate is set well inland, so I’ve not had the opportunity to make a firsthand observation. Of course, one hears tales, and the place has a dark history. It was a haven for Captain Kidd, you know. They say his treasure is buried somewhere along one of the beaches, but none have found it.
As I’d hoped, the mention of that name caught the interest of Miss Manette (and the boy). She peeped shyly at me, her blue eyes bright in the dimness of the coach. “Do you speak of the infamous pirate, Mr. Barrett?”
Had there been space to do so, I would have made her a proper bow of courtesy. A partial one from my seat had to serve, its sincerity marred by the movement of the coach. “Indeed I do, Miss Manette. Long Island, where I am from, was a favorite hiding place for his stolen booty.”
“Where is this island?”
“It is part of the colony of New York in the Americas,” I replied.
“And you are then an American?”
“A loyal American subject of our good King George, God save him.”
A murmur of “amens” went ’round the interior.
Since coming to England to complete my education at Cambridge, I’d learned to answer similar questions with that phrase and thus avoid unpleasant social complications. Things were unsettled enough between Mother England and some few of her wayward children in the New World, and I did what I could to assure my countrymen that I was not one of those troublemakers.
“Why are you come to England, sir? Miss Manette asked. “And Dover in particular?”
“Hush, my ladybird,” admonished her companion. “Vex not the gentleman” —Miss Pross emphasized that word slightly—“with idle questions. I’m sure he has other things to think about.”
Her incivility put the devil in me, so I smiled and bowed as well as I could to her, and in such a way that she couldn’t possibly object without looking wholly boorish. “Not at all, dear lady. I am here to read law at Cambridge. My cousin, Mr. Marling, who is to be a doctor, and I are come to Dover to conduct a bit of private business.”
Young Percy stifled an unexpected guffaw. I took that to mean he well understood our errand, which made him perceptive beyond his age. The noise of the wheels grinding upon the road served to cover his sudden expression of amusement, so the ladies quite missed his reaction. Not so for M. Deveau, who, from the glint in his eye, also guessed the truth of the matter.
“Will you be proceeding to the Continent?” asked Miss Manette.
“I think not. Is that your destination?”
“I believe so, sir.”
Under the hard glare of Miss Pross, I knew an inquiry over why the ladies would hazard the Channel in this unsettled season would be too direct. “Then I wish you a very easy and uneventful journey.”
“You are most kind, sir, but ’uneventful’?”
“Indeed, miss. It is a gracious fate who allows us to be free of cares when traveling. I was half bored to death when making my crossing to England, but it was a blessing. All travelers should be afflicted with acute boredom, for that means a safe passage.”
I was rewarded with a smile for this and might have pursued the topic further, but for being interrupted by a change in our pace and a shout from the coach driver. Our arrival was at hand. I burned to have another look as we rolled into town, but Miss Pross wore a glower sufficient to discourage a saint from praying, so I forced myself to have patience until we came to a stop.
The head drawer for our hotel—which happened to be the Royal George—pulled open the door, welcoming us to Dover. The ladies gathered themselves and were the first out. Sir Algernon was next, then followed my cousin with me straight behind. The boy had politely indicated I should proceed him, and M. Deveau was last. I think Master Percy wished to avoid a continuation of his proximity to Miss Pross. She was shouting in a most challenging manner for people to make-way-make-way for her “ladybird,” though the only ones about were the driver and the drawer, who showed no concern for this display and went about their business of unloading the coach.
The night air was the chill and deadly damp as only England can make and rife with the slimy stink of dead fish. Still, it was better than the stuffy coach. Thunder grumbled angrily in the distance, and I was thankful we’d arrived ahead of what promised to be a wonderfully malicious storm. I stretched my cramped cold body, feeling the strange shakiness that inevitably follows the abrupt cessation of a long, uncomfortable ride. Oliver seemed to be in the same sate of shock from the change.
“I say, Coz,” he said, distracting me from looking about. “Let’s have something hot to restore the flow of blood, then I’d dearly like to put myself around a joint of beef if they have one.”
At this reminder I realized I was quite hollow. As Miss Pross pointed out, Dover would not be running off. It struck me that wandering about after dark in a strange town populated with smugglers would be as unhealthy as the dank air.
Oliver had stayed at the hotel on previous journeys, and after sending up our travel cases, led us to the coffee room, which was quite large, the long, low ceiling stretching far away into shadows. It smelled divinely of that hot, black brew, and we availed ourselves of a curative dish each, well-laced with good French brandy. With it, we threw off the rigors of the road, along with our cloaks and hats, and took up a post before a sizable fireplace. The ladies and their baggage were conducted upstairs to more private quarters for their refreshment. Sir Algernon and Percy took themselves to a dim corner, giving their order to a waiter, content with their own company. M. Deveau was elsewhere, probably securing rooms for his master and young charge. The only other occupant was an orderly-looking man of sixty or so, dressed in drab brown, which made a sharp contrast to his shining, flax-colored wig. Another waiter approached him respectfully.
“Miss Manette has arrived, sir,” he said. “She says she would be happy to see the gentleman from Tellson’s, if it suits your pleasure and convenience.”
“So soon?” asked the man in brown.
The waiter’s response escaped my hearing, for I noticed the father and son both looked up at the mention of Tellson’s, a name I did not recognize. The brown-clad fellow left, unaware that they marked his departure.
“What’s Tellson’s?” I asked Oliver, who also noticed the exchange.
“Bankers. Very old and so fearfully respectable even my mother has nothing to say against them.”
“They must be truly formidable. Wonder what’s afoot to bring one of their people out to meet with the fair Miss Manette?”
“No business of ours or so that Pross creature will inform you. You’ve not a hope with the young one, dear Coz. Besides, what would the beauteous Miss Jones say if she knew your attention had wandered from her?”
I pretended to unconcerned by that prospect. “Wandered? I was only making conversation to pass the time. You had plenty of chance to have a try, but you didn’t, so I stepped in.”
“Oh, bother, I never know what to say to proper young ladies, especially when they are so closely chaperoned. It’s dangerous, too.”
“How so?”
“One stray remark about the weather, a cordial smile, and before you know it you’re engaged. I’ve seen it happen countless times. Those London girls are the most frightful predators you’ll find this side of any wilderness. They can’t abide the sight of an unmarried man, and from birth are set up and schooled for the sole purpose of getting an otherwise happy fellow under wedlock-and-key.”
“What’s this? Has your mother found another prospect for you?”
He shuddered. “I shall have to engage myself in some sort of revolting tomfoolery so she won’t speak to me for the next few months. By then the wretched girl will have moved on to stalki
ng another victim.”
“Take care what you wish for.” I thought about the delightful Miss Manette and our too-brief exchange. “I don’t think she’s English-born, though. Did you not mark her accent? Very slight, but charming.”
“French, I’ll warrant, considering the name. She’s probably off to Calais to meet with relatives, and the banker’s here to provide her with a bit of spending money and perhaps protection for it. Though God help any thieves trying to get past the Pross.”
“Indeed.”
The waiter came to us in our turn, inquiring what we would like in the way of food.
Some short while later, replete with half the contents of the kitchen inside our bellies, we were in a wonderfully lethargic mood. The cafe noir made us wakeful, though. Instead of going up to the room prepared for us, we idled before the fire, content to slowly roast, smoking our pipes.
“When?” I asked Oliver.
He looked at a clock on the mantel. “Not too much longer. Word will be about. We can expect someone at any time.”
“And you’ll be able to trust him?”
“Certainly not, but that’s what makes it so amusing.”
M. Deveau had returned to break bread with his master, and that party lingered at their table for a time until Sir Algernon retired upstairs. Young Percy had schooling to do, though. He and Deveau produced books and papers and went to work. I caught enough to hear a French lesson in progress. Percy had an excellent accent, speaking as rapidly as a native. Mine was quite rusty by comparison, and though I had a good and careful tutor at his age and after, I wasn’t up to his rapidity of speech.
Our digestion was abruptly cut short by some sort of disturbance upstairs.
“What’s that?” Oliver asked, stirring from his near-doze. “The Pross is raising the devil.”
“Or fighting him,” I put in. “What a row.”
A moment later the owner of the George came quickly into the coffee room, and upon spying us, approached. “Mr. Marling?”
Oliver sat up straight. “Yes?”
“There is a—that is—the young lady—has been taken suddenly ill, and Miss Pross says that you are a doctor. . . .”
“Well, not quite yet I’m not, but I can have a look at her if you like.”
The man seemed supremely relieved. Oliver, perhaps anxious to prove himself already worthy of practicing the physician’s art, took himself off with a cheery wave to me.
The disturbances temporarily halted the French lesson. M. Deveau closed the book they studied. “Ah, M. Percy, this is of little interest to you when some real adventure takes place only a room away, is that not so?” His English was as superb as the boy’s French.
“Indeed, sir,” responded Percy, his gaze fixed on the door through which Oliver had gone. In the distance one could hear the outraged Miss Pross carrying on with much gusto.
“Then go satisfy your curiosity while I have a pipe.”
For all his obvious eagerness to leave, the boy bowed to each of us before departing, as grave as any gentleman thrice his age. Then he clattered upstairs, a child again.
“May I join you by the fire, Mr. Barrett?” asked Deveau.
“Please.”
He rose and came over, prepared his pipe and lighted it, and stood silhouetted before the flames, warming his back. The storm had arrived in force by now, and some of the rain made its way down the chimney to strike hissing on the burning wood. It made one humbly grateful for the pleasures of being under a solid roof with good food and ready warmth at hand.
“You English have an excellent idea of how to build a proper fire,” he remarked affably. “There are homes in France where such a space would be used as a receiving room.”
I enjoyed his exaggeration and offered to share from the bottle of wine Oliver and I had been working through. Deveau accepted with thanks and asked when I expected to place an order for more. He had rightly deduced the nature of our errand to Dover.
“Soon,” I said. “We’re to look for anyone coming our way wearing a red flower in his hat.”
“That is the game of it. A certain color flower for some, a handkerchief for another. You have dealt with the gentleman before?”
That must have been his term for those who made a living on the free trade of wine and spirits. “My cousin has done this many times and will see to the details.”
“That is good. Many of the fellows who avoid the king’s excise men are rough by nature and bear watching.”
“You know something about it?”
He gave an expressive non-English shrug. “It was a family concern once upon a time. My father was a French Captain, so I grew up with it. My English mother was not fond of the dangers of the sea and encouraged me to less perilous pursuits, and so I am here.”
Deveau seemed to think this to be a sufficient explanation of himself, and, for two travelers sharing a pipe and a sip of wine, it was exactly right.
Master Percy returned just then full of news, yet so self-possessed that he did not forget his position as a young gentleman and offered a proper greeting to me. This required that I stand and return his bow and invite him to partake of some of the wine. He was a bit young, yet, for smoking a pipe. He declined, though, and reported that there was considerable excitement upstairs, most of it caused by Miss Pross.
“Miss Manette was speaking with the Tellson’s banker, a Mr. Lorry,” said the child. “He must have had bad news for her, for she fainted dead away. Miss Pross discovered what happened and is in herself a state, running about blaming everyone, especially Mr. Lorry. She’s carrying on most fiercely. The maids and waiters are hiding lest she fall on them like the storm outside.”
“An interesting picture, young sir,” I said. “How fares my cousin Oliver under the assault?”
“Oh, he’s ignoring her and looking after the lady. Most calm he is.”
Oliver had had much practice at ignoring loud, fit-throwing females, what with his mother being an exceptional example of that ilk. He would make a fine doctor. “Did the banker say what caused her to faint?”
“Not a word, sir, but then bankers are like that and bankers from Tellson’s more so than most. By coincidence, my father’s estate is in their charge. When we heard that the man was from them, we thought he might have some business with us, but we were wrong.”
I was framing a polite query on just who his father was, but an interruption—three of them in fact—barged into the coffee room, dripping wet and complaining about the foul weather. Deveau gave one and all a narrow, careful look. A rough lot they appeared to be, too. Though their clothes were acceptable, they brought to mind a gathering of ungroomed plow-mules dressed up in polished harness. Each wore a red flower of one kind or another in his hat.
“Is your cousin acquainted with any of these fellows?” Deveau murmured from the side of his mouth as they scrutinized us in turn.
“No,” I replied. “He was going to speak to whomever came tonight and pick the best bargain of the lot.”
“As Mr. Marling is elsewhere, may I put myself forward in his place?”
This from a man who grew up in the trade. I gratefully accepted his generous offer. Percy took Oliver’s chair and watched the exchange with sharp interest.
The three tradesmen, not gentlemen, came over, and each presented himself to us: Captain Shellhorse, Captain Keech, and Captain Talmadge.
Keech was the largest, most pugnacious of them and put himself to take the lead. His hat’s red flower was made of paper. It being late in the season for fresh blooms, that struck me as a clever substitute. He and Deveau stepped off to the side and spoke quickly in low tones for several moments, then Shellhorse, who wore a much-faded rose, had his turn, then Talmadge, whose scarlet blossom was so small as to be easily overlooked. They each retired to separate tables as Deveau returned to confer with me.
“How much brandy were you planning to buy?” he asked.
I told him. Brandy, wine, and a long list of other items.
His eyes went wide. “So much? Are you buying for a whole town?”
“Er, no, just for my house at the university. With Christmas and the new year coming up we’ll want a good stock in place for the celebrations of the season.”
“How many are in your house?”
My answer astonished him.
“So few? For so much drink?”
“That’s university men for you. We require ten times more than other chaps.”
He found that amusing, as did Percy. “I shall see what I can do.”
Deveau returned to his task of interviewing each of the captains. Not one of them blinked at the quantity of my order, but a disagreement broke out between Shellhorse and Talmadge over who could deliver the quickest. It threatened to come to blows until the owner of the hotel made an appearance and commanded silence. Clearly he held their respect, for the argument instantly subsided. I got the impression that he turned a blind eye to their trade, allowing them to conduct business under his roof—providing no trouble came of it. Certainly it was to everyone’s mutual advantage to behave.
But when our host left, Keech put himself forward, declaring that he had better quality stock for a better price. Deveau expressed interest, but Shellhorse and Talmadge instantly made lower bids. Keech waiting until they’d exhausted themselves, in their auction in reverse, then underbid them both. He collected a murderous reaction, but they eventually backed down.
“Ye’ll leave yersel’ penniless an’ starving at tha’ price.” said Shellhorse with satisfaction. “Me an Talmadge’ll be selling for double that to the next man down the road. You see if we don’t!”
Talmadge spat on the floor in a show of agreement.
Keech seemed unconcerned. “Aye, but what I ’ave now is mor’n what I started with this dawn. I’m pleased with my lot.”
As was I, for I instinctively knew that Oliver would not have gotten a better price for the goods. At this point I was able to take over and sort the details of delivery and payment. We determined that money would be exchanged once the kegs and bottles safely arrived at our house in Cambridge. Keech had a man who could be trusted with the task, but I was not as confident.
