The Blighted Cliffs (36 page)

Ooze
covered the gold buckle on his shoe.

'Thank
you,' said Bingham politely. 'And Lady Arlington, too. '

'Lady
Arlington will not be accosted and forced to dirty her skirts on the
common highway.'

Lord
Arlington patted the back of his head gingerly, as if expecting his
palm to come away caked with matted hair and blood, though I suspect
he found only a bruise.

'I
should no sooner besmirch Lady Arlington's dress than her
reputation.'

With
these words, Bingham leaped onto the step and pulled himself into the
carriage, to the sound of a horrified shriek from within. Arlington
started forward but only doubled himself over the musket barrel that
was thrust before his belly.

Bingham's
cheerful face reappeared in the doorway. 'Have no fear,' he called,
oblivious to Arlington's contortions. 'Your lady's honour is safe - I
merely startled her. Sergeant! There is a box in here that would feel
the benefit of some air.'

I
heard the sound of fresh protestations inside, matched by Arlington's
struggles before me, but he was capably restrained by the men around
him and was impotent to stop the chest being manhandled onto the
ground. Even without his complaints, though, I would have guessed he
did not want it opened, for it was built from thick teak and bound
with half a dozen stout iron hoops. A yawning keyhole was the only
chink in its formidable armour.

'What's
inside?' asked Bingham.

'Devil
take you,' spat Arlington.

The
men had moved away from him slightly, so he was not forcibly
restrained - we were not, after all, brigands - but there was no
question of his moving anywhere.

Bingham
repeated his question.

'Why
don't you see for yourself?' Arlington pulled away his neckcloth and
opened his shirt. Fumbling inside it, he took out a large key on a
cord, pulled it over his head and handed it malevolently to Bingham.
It turned in the lock with a heavy click. 'Do you think me an
impostor at nobility now?' he sneered.

'I
never heard that wealth equated to nobility,' replied Bingham, though
we all knew that to be a lie. And, in as much as the one can buy the
other, Arlington was noble. Even the soldiers ordered to watch him
craned their necks over to see inside the strongbox, while I forgot
my upbringing and stared like a peasant. Inside, piled all the way to
the brim, scattered one over the other like a pirate's treasure, lay
hundreds upon hundreds of gleaming golden guineas.

For
a man presented with more money than he will feasibly own in a
lifetime, Bingham remained remarkably cool. Though even he could not
prevent a certain obsequious note creeping into his voice.

'And
what do you propose to do with that, sir?' he asked.

'That's
my own business, damn you,' said Arlington, but with less malice than
before. Whether he felt a miser's cheer at seeing his hoard, or
whether he enjoyed impressing his rank upon us, there was a mirthless
smile curling at the edge of his mouth. 'Unless Mr Fox has now made
it a crime for an Englishman to prosper. But as I am always eager to
assist my country, I will tell you: I am taking it to my banker for
safe-keeping. I had feared to meet with thieves on the road; I had
not expected they would take the guise of the King's soldiers.'

Bingham
nodded. 'I apologize, sir, if we have caused you distress. Sometimes
we can be over-zealous in the pursuit of our duty.' He managed to
sound passably contrite. 'But you are wise to think to your safety,
so I shall give you a squadron of my men to accompany you to your
bank.' He lifted a hand to still Arlington's protest. 'No, I am happy
to spare them, and I would rest easier knowing that your eminent
person - to say nothing of your fortune, and of course your estimable
wife - was safe. Lieutenant Jerrold will accompany you.'

Naturally,
Arlington resisted; naturally, Bingham prevailed. I was put at the
head of ten men - six in front of the carriage, four behind it - and
off we marched, a fine procession of pomp which, if it insulted Lord
Arlington's liberty, must certainly have flattered his dignity. I
felt uneasy in my place at the front, partly because, as a naval
officer, marching with ceremony was not a skill I had needed to
master - there is only so far one can travel on even the biggest ship
of the line - and partly because the clopping of the horses' hooves
was ever close behind me, and I could not convince myself that the
driver might not suddenly lay on the whip and skittle us all out of
his way.

Soon,
though, we came into Dover, and simply steering through those crooked
streets must have taken all the coachman's wits. There were several
times when my little platoon had to pause and wait, and once when
only a stout heave from the men behind got the carriage round a tight
corner, at the expense of a deep scar across one of the wheels. Only
when we turned on to the waterfront did the road become wide enough
to admit the coach with case again.

'You
may leave now, Lieutenant,' said Arlington, popping his head
carefully out of the window. 'I dare say we have weathered the storm,
and your protection would be better used elsewhere.'

'Doubtless
it would,' I agreed sincerely. 'But it's the last mile is most
treacherous, as they say, particularly when it runs near a harbour. I
could not conscience it if misfortune befell you now.'

Arlington
grunted, but under the sarcasm there was a truth in my words, and he
knew it. 'Very well,' he allowed. 'But Lady Arlington wishes to
dismount here.'

'Certainly.'

Pre-empting
the coachman, I pulled open the door and took the hand that was
extended to help her down. Lady Arlington had stayed hidden in the
carriage all this time and I was curious to get a sight of her,
though now that I did she seemed little more than what I would have
expected: far younger than her husband, fair haired, with pale skin,
fine posture and bored eyes. The fashioning of her dress and spencer
were as predictably immaculate as her complexion, but all this
perfection served only to give her the sheen of a varnished doll. And
probably the character to match, I thought, as she moved disdainfully
past me.

I
was little concerned with her, though. Nor did I much care about
Arlington and his strongbox. Had a highwayman accosted us and robbed
him at gunpoint, I would as soon have given the rogue a shilling for
the entertainment as discharged my pistol in his face. But I did want
to know where Arlington banked, for I had a notion could guess, and
my hunch became a certainty as we led the carriage around the inner
edge of the harbour and drew up outside the brick frontage of
Mazard's Bank. I directed two of the men to unload the chest, but
almost immediately Mazard's Goliath of a doorman emerged and, with a
respectful salute to Lord Arlington and a menacing glare at me,
lifted the box into his arms and carried it within. No doubt the
sight of its contents would warm the cold embers of Mazard's heart.

We
were on the opposite side of the harbour to
Orestes
here, and as Arlington disappeared with a final scowl I peered around
the side of the building to get a look at her. A tall red uniform was
standing stiffly at her stern; I could also see Copthorne
gesticulating animatedly, and Crawley on the side looking awkward.
Clearly it was not a propitious time for me to make my return so,
feeling a bit like the Duke of York, I marched my little contingent
back to the roadblock.

I
was glad of the time to think, for I had the beginnings of an idea
forming in my head. Just before we had left the harbour, I had turned
to look back. On a cloudy day, with no hint of a sun, the walls of
Mazard's glass room were perfectly clear. And there, for all to see,
were Mazard and Arlington, deep in conversation.

'Did
I miss anything?' I asked Bingham. It seemed unlikely: his men were
mostly sitting by the roadside now, chattering away and looking more
like a church picnic than an army.

'Only
lunch,' said Bingham, sucking on a chicken leg. 'And, of course, a
thrilling battle with a horde of barbarous villains whom we battled
to a bloody victory.'

'I'm
more distressed about the lunch,' I told him, truthfully. 'But I've
discovered where Lord Arlington banks.'

'And?'

Bingham
tossed away his chicken bone. It bounced off a tree and
ricocheted into a group of his men.

'Mazard's.'
Lowering my voice, I explained nay concerns. 'Why would anyone from
London want to bank in Dover, want to bring a fortune in gold all the
way down a dangerous highway to an unknown provincial banker?'

'Perhaps
the service is more courteous down here?'

'Perhaps.
Or perhaps Mazard can make him a return that's a damn sight handsomer
than anything he could get in London.' Briefly, I repeated what
Nevell had told me that night aboard
Orestes
.
'Who would be better positioned to get his hands on enough gold to
fund the smugglers than Dover's most eminent banker? And what richer
profit could he turn with it?'

'Perhaps
he collects for the children's hospital.' Bingham was frowning. 'You
make an argument, Jerrold, I grant you, but you'll need to be more
circumspect when accusing a man such as Mazard of crimes like that.
He's one of Dover's most respected citizens.'

The
competition for that honour was hardly rigorous.

'And
also one of the most powerful,' continued Bingham. 'He doesn't just
have his finger in all the pies in town, he owns most of them
outright. He and your friend Sir Lawrence Cunningham exercise a
complete hegemony in Dover. Tight as breeches. Do everything
together. Mazard, as I understand it, finds the money, and
Cunningham, as alderman, ensures the necessary permissions and
privileges are granted. You've seen the work being done on the
defences up at the castle? All contracted to Mazard & Company, in
partnership with Cunningham. They supply the fleet at Deal. They own
shops, chandlers, laundries, public houses, anything they can turn a
profit on, and all manned by grateful poorhouse workers thanks to
that illustrious Commissioner for the Poor, Sir Lawrence Cunningham.'

I
suppose this ought not to have been surprising intelligence: I had
seen them conspiring together at the ball, after all, and had enough
evidence of the long reach of their interests to draw my own
conclusions. But Bingham's stark assessment still took me aback, not
least because of the implications it threw on Sir Lawrence's role in
the scheme I was imputing to Mazard. I confess there was a certain
shameless joy in the thought that he might end up a prisoner in his
own gaol, though of course at the moment that was merely the most
libellous speculation.

My
thought must have shown in my face, for Bingham was smiling slyly.
'Perhaps I ought not to have said that. I can imagine it might not be
the thing to deter you from your idea of an eminent conspiracy.'

'No,'
I admitted. 'And it would certainly explain much that's happened.'
The failings of Sir Lawrence's intelligence, to begin with, and his
insistence on there being a spy in our ranks. How better to disguise
his own guilt than by trying to lay the blame else where? And on me,
at that.

But
Bingham was shaking his head. 'Enough, Jerrold.' He spoke lightly,
but with a measure of seriousness under it. 'Someone must bank the
smugglers' gold - well enough. Mazard has an ample collection of
golden guineas - true too, but he is a banker, and golden guineas are
his trade. Mazard and Cunningham work often in partnership - again
true, but that does not make Cunningham a smuggler, any more than the
fact that he has taken a disliking to you. These coincidences admit
to many explanations, Jerrold, and most of them are far more
innocent, and far safer, than what you propose.'