The Blighted Cliffs (51 page)

We
reached the square.

'I
suppose I ought to return you to the gaol, Lieutenant,' said Crawley
hesitantly. 'That, after all, is where you are expected to be.'

None
of us had spoken a word on the walk back, so I had yet to apprise him
of my curious adventures. I did not have the strength to tell him
now. I feared I would need formidable powers of stamina to convince
anyone of the truth of it.

'It's
for Sir Lawrence to put people in the gaol,' I argued. 'And even if
you did, we have established that I can walk out of it at my leisure.
Why not keep me aboard
Orestes
until Sir Lawrence returns?'

'
Orestes
is still at sea,' said Crawley. 'And you know well enough that we
have no brig.'

'Then
send me to my room at the inn and put Constable Stubb on the door. I
need a bed, and a clean pair of clothes. You can see I'm too feeble
to trouble him.' I could barely stand upright. 'And I promise I will
not fly away out of the window. I've had my fill of that for this
day.'

Crawle
y,
who clearly longed for abed and bath of his own, assented. Ducker led
me back, sending Isaac to fetch Stubb. In truth, they could have left
a limbless dwarf to guard me and I would not have overcome him, but I
suppose it made them feel safer.

I
left Ducker with a sage piece of advice to take back to Crawley, and
then, as I heard Stubb's tread on the stairs, swiftly sequestered
myself in my room. Though I do not know why I persisted in calling it
my room, for it seemed more often than not I was a visitor there.

'I
don't recall that I invited you back.' I was immeasurably tired, and
it told in my voice.

'I
couldn't risk Miss Hoare, and the parson couldn't have me,' explained
Isobel quietly. 'His aunt's visiting. And I heard you wouldn't be
needing it. Isaac let me in. For a sixpence.'

There
was an awkward silence. On the one hand, of course, there was the
fact that she had twice rescued me from certain doom - thrice, if you
counted the soldiers she must have led into the castle keep. But on
the other hand, being back here in the mundane confines of Dover
reminded me of her unsavoury past, and in this room, a world away
from danger and heroics, the rights and wrongs seemed infinitely
difficult, moral complexities far beyond my consideration and
judgement. Retreat seemed the easiest solution.

'I
shall be in the bar.' I pulled on the door, but it did not give. 'Let
me out,' I shouted, banging loudly.

'You
might've walked out o' Dover gaol, but you'll not get past Hezekiah
Stubb so easy,' the constable yelled back.

I
offered a few pointed words which, on reflection, I would not have
said in front of a lady.

'Can
I speak, Martin?' asked Isobel from the bed. 'As you've nowhere else
to go.'

'Very
well.' I shrugged. Even that was an effort. 'But at least allow me my
own bed. It's been two nights since I saw one of those.'

'I've
warmed it for you.'

She
slid off and took the stool. I lay down and let myself sink into the
blessed softness of the mattress.

'Now,'
said Isobel earnestly, 'you can send me away if you want, and I'll
go, but I do...'

I
couldn't have sent her away on a mail coach. I was fast asleep.

I
awoke in darkness. There were thin arms clutched about my chest, and
a warm cheek against my neck. Somehow my clothes had vanished - as
well, really, for they had been very damp.

'You
incorrigible marauder,' I muttered. 'Keeping the French from our
shores is nothing against trying to keep you out of my bed.' It
suddenly seemed ridiculous that I should want to. 'Are you awake?'

She
murmured some sort of assent.

'How
much did you really do for the smugglers?' I wondered. 'Or, if you
will, how much did they put you up to?'

She
thought on it for a while, so long that I thought she had fallen back
into sleep.

'I
took up with you at the
Crown
and Anchor
,
if that's what you're asking, because I wanted some nonsense, like I
said,' she said at last. 'And I kept coming back because I liked it,
and I thought you did, too. But the Drake gang, they've got ears on
every wall in Dover, and they've been into me since I was that small.
When you started asking your questions, they asked some back, and you
can't shut your mouth to the Drake gang. I never peached you though,'
she added hastily. 'Whatever they knew about where you'd be, that was
someone else.'

'A
banker named Henry Mazard, I should think. Benefiting from his
friendship with Sir Lawrence. But go on.'

'Not
much else to go on about. I delivered the tubs, of course, but
everyone does that. I told them little odds and ends about Sir
Lawrence when I was working for him, but there wasn't much I could
tell worth saying.' She propped herself up on a bare arm. 'That's my
history, Martin, and if it's a stain then it's one you can't scrub
off me. You might as well try to remove my arms.'

'I
certainly would not want that.' I grunted, and rolled over to kiss
the limbs in question. 'Such lovely arms.'

'Just
my arms?' she asked, pressing forward other portions of her aspect
for my consideration.

'No,'
I conceded. 'Not just your arms.'

Tired
though I was, she would not let me sleep again until I had satisfied
her of my admiration for all her body. And indeed, there was much to
admire.

My
last morning in Dover commenced, predictably, with a thumping. I had
forgotten that advantage to sleeping in caves and gaols. It was a
wonder there was not a fist-sized hole in my door by now.

'Cap'n
Crawley wants you at the guild'all, sir,' said Ducker's voice. Then,
more quietly, 'Did 'e try an escape, Mr Stubb?'

'No.'

Stubb
sounded disappointed. But then, I suspected I had passed a more
enjoyable night than he.

'Mr
Cunningham says you can go,' Ducker told him. 'There's no need for
it.'

I
dressed.

'Stay
here,' I told Isobel, wondering if by the perversity of her nature
she would take that instruction as a mason to go. It certainly was
not my purpose.

She
smiled cheekily from the bed. 'Don't have a place to go anyway.'

To
an unschooled observer, the guildhall that morning might well have
been mistaken for the seamen's hospital. Crawley sported an enormous
bruise on his cheek, Cunningham's face was wrapped like a leper's,
and Colonel Copthorne had his arm in a sling. All looked strained and
haggard. The only man in the room looking acceptable was the one I
least expected to see: Nevell.

'Good
morning, Lieutenant,' said Copthorne warmly. 'Thank you for
attending. I thought we ought to assemble here to discuss the events
of Saturday night. I have dispatches to write for my superiors -
doubtless, Captain Crawley, you have too - and it seemed they would
read considerably better if we were agreed on what had actually
happened. Hence your invitation, Lieutenant. From my initial
enquiries, your name appears to arise with alarming frequency.'

He
must have seen the apprehension in my face, for he went on, 'Before
we begin, I should add that Sir Lawrence has already provided me with
his most forceful assurances that he witnessed your conduct in the
battle at the castle and is satisfied that you acted in the best
traditions of your service. He is convinced that any slanders which
have been laid against you are utterly baseless and without merit. He
also wishes me to convey his thanks to you for conducting an
examination of the security of his gaol, which conclusions he looks
forward to receiving.'

Perhaps
Sir Lawrence feared I would accuse him of murdering a captive in
chains, or perhaps Simon Drake pummelled him harder than I'd
realized, but I would not argue it. I nodded my gracious agreement.
Cunningham gave a sickly smile.

'Now,'
said Copthorne. 'What precisely did we witness on Saturday?'

'A
French landing,' began Nevell.

'Of
course it was a French landing,' snapped Copthorne. 'Or at least,
there were certainly Frenchmen there - I killed four of the bastards
myself. But Buonaparte's not going to invade with a battalion. Even
his arrogance has its bounds. And he's kept his army in the East,
long may it stay there.'

'It
was a ploy,' I said wearily. 'A ploy to convince us that there was an
invasion, to stop the government negotiating its peace and allow
Mazard and his confederates to keep up the lucrative businesses they
had supplying our forces, bringing in contraband, and, far more
profitably, playing the creditor to the French government.'

'Creditor?'
repeated Copthorne, dumbfounded. 'An Englishman funding the French
tyrant? I never heard anything half so preposterous.'

'He
made forty per cent.' For me, that silenced any argument.

Now
Crawley spoke. 'I can substantiate much of Lieutenant Jerrold's
story, Colonel. Yesterday morning, acting on information he relayed,
I impounded Mazard's brig
Navarre
.
From her charts, and the testimony of her master, we believe she was
bound for France. In her hold were fifty thousand guineas.'

Copthorne's
bandaged arm lifted from his sling as he drew a deep, disbelieving
breath. 'But surely, Captain, Lieutenant, a continental power cannot
be financed by a single provincial banker. There must have been
partners. Accomplices.'

'There
were,' confirmed Nevell. 'A French colonel, found dead on the beach
this morning, and at present with the coroner. Simon Drake, brother
of the late, nefarious Caleb Drake, who took care of the more dubious
arrangements. He is also, as it happens, with the coroner. Shot, I'm
told. In the back.' He raised an eyebrow, and glanced significantly
at Cunningham.

Sir
Lawrence grunted. 'The man was blind, makes no difference which side
he was shot in. But these are underlings, trifles. I worked long
enough with Mazard, God knows, and I can scarce believe he could
muster such sums alone. If he was backing Buonaparte, who were his
backers?'

The
question hung in the air, while I thought back on Lord Arlington and
his fabulous chest of golden guineas. Perhaps, later, I would mention
it to Nevell. For now, though, I left him to contend alone with the
expectant eyes fixed on him.

'Their
identities remain obscure,' he admitted. 'And with Mazard dead in the
cells of the castle, he will sadly not be telling us.' The vivid
image of Mazard's broken skull ebbing blood flared in my mind.
'Certainly these investors exist, probably in London. But they will
not be the sort of men to be dallied with. They will command the most
significant interest, and they will be well protected. By all manner
of means. The rich,' Nevell concluded glumly, 'usually are.'