With All Despatch

still in it. It had been fired, so he may have winged one of the scum. But luck in that direction is thin on the ground. I've had my fellows search the area.' He added bitterly, 'By God, they're getting used to that, I can tell you, sir! But there was nothing. I did not expect there would be.' He looked around at the watching trees, the way that the sunlight seemed shut out, beyond reach.

Then he said, 'I can see that you feel it too. This is a place of ill repute. Nobody comes here now.' His eyes sparked in a memory. 'However there was a carriage here recently. But we lost the tracks as soon as it left the copse.'

'A local man of importance?'

The major observed him shrewdly. 'I have my own ideas. But what can I do? To think that within a year perhaps, I shall be ordered to lead my dragoons-' he waved vaguely in the direction of the sea, 'against French invaders, to protect the same people who lie, cheat, and if necessary murder anyone who stands up to them!'

'Is it really as bad as that?'

The major smiled. 'My colonel will tell you, given half a chance. He was in Thanet, about eight years ago when he was a captain. He was ordered to Deal, with a troop of fifty dragoons, to put down a smugglers' gang and burn their boats.' His eyes hardened as he saw it in his mind, imagining himself and not his colonel. 'They were set upon by an armed mob of well over a thousand, and were cut off. But for the timely arrival of the 38th Regiment of Foot, who, God bless 'em, had marched all the way from Canterbury to assist, my colonel's troop would have been massacred. I am a soldier, and I have seen some terrible sights, just as you have. But this kind of work leaves me sick with disgust.'

Bolitho saw Young Matthew leading his horse towards the trees, then pausing as a dragoon held up his hand and shook his head.

'Why don't people come here?'

The major shrugged. 'You see that burned-out tree? A smuggling gang caught a man from the nearby village. He had been spying on them, was well known for it apparently. Sometimes he was said to have sold information to the revenue officers, even to the army.'

'So they killed him here?' Bolitho looked hard at the clearing.

'No. They set fire to that tree, then burned out his eyes. A warning to others, if one such were needed!'

Bolitho felt his shirt clinging clammily to his body. 'Thank you for telling me all this.' He beckoned to the two watching sea-officers. 'I'll be quick.'

The major smiled. 'I'm willing to fight in the open. But here? I'd prefer to use infantry!'

The lieutenant touched his hat and explained that he had been in charge of a press gang, and had ordered his midshipman to march some prisoners to Sheerness.

Bolitho said sharply, 'I will attend to that matter presently.' The lieutenant's obvious eagerness to shift any blame to his subordinate's shoulders was sickening.

'Who are you?' Bolitho eyed the pale midshipman, and immediately sensed his fear. 'Tell me exactly what happened.'

'Midshipman Fenwick, sir.' He looked anywhere but at Bolitho's eyes. 'I-I had halted my party at a small inn, as is customary, sir, and whilst doing rounds I discovered that one of my charges had escaped. There was no time to rouse the guard, so I decided to give chase along with-' His eyes moved nervously to the trampled grass. 'We were outnumbered. They were everywhere-'

The major interrupted gently, 'It was at night, Captain Bolitho.'

'I see.' Bolitho watched the midshipman's hands. Fingers opening and twitching. More like an old man than one at the start of his chosen calling. Passed over for promotion, failed his lieutenant's examination, but opportunity was still with him, something too often denied others altogether.

Bolitho asked, 'Who was the man who escaped?'

'He-he was a sailmaker, sir, we'd kept him apart from the rest because-' His voice trailed away, then he exclaimed, 'I did my best, sir!'

The lieutenant stared at Fenwick angrily. 'He should have known better, sir. The one good man we'd been able to catch, a deserter from the London, and this fool let him run!'

Bolitho snapped, 'Pray be silent.' Then to the midshipman he said, 'Can you recall the sailmaker's name?' He did not really care, but there was more to this than was out in the open. The midshipman was hiding something. Perhaps he had run away and left the seaman to die alone, a memory which would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The midshipman screwed up his eyes. 'I-I-' Then he nodded. 'Yes, sir. It was Spencer. I recall it now!'

The major remarked, 'Probably already at sea in some smuggling vessel.'

Bolitho turned away to conceal his expression from them. He walked a few paces, feeling their eyes following him. Perhaps Allday could not read or write, but he knew and loved animals. Especially the old sheepdog at the great grey house in Falmouth, whom Bolitho had named Spencer.

He turned abruptly and said to the lieutenant, 'You will place this midshipman under open arrest, and you will remain with him at the dockyard, until a proper enquiry has been carried out.'

He ignored the lieutenant's dismay and Fenwick's shocked gasp. If they were involved it would be better if they were safely under supervision. Either way they would lose if implicated. A court martial, and death at a yardarm, or-he looked at the burned-out tree-much worse if others discovered they had been unmasked.

The major followed him to the horses and said admiringly, 'I liked that.'

Bolitho glanced at him and smiled briefly. He might not like it so much if he knew the real reason.

He raised his boot to the stirrup and saw Young Matthew watching him from the other horse.

Allday was alive. Was risking his life once again, for him.

It was all he could do to keep his voice normal.

'I shall go to the commodore's residence, Major. He may have returned.'

'Then I shall escort you, sir.' The major was pleased to leave.

As they moved out of the trees into the welcoming sunshine and the dragoons formed into pairs behind their officer, Bolitho turned in his saddle and looked back towards the sinister copse. He saw rooks circling above the trees, their raucous voices breaking the stillness like taunting cries.

No wonder people avoided the place. He felt his jaw tighten as he saw the dead girl's face in his mind again.

She may have died alone when the fishing boat had blown up, but he doubted it. His heart rebelled against it as he recalled the small boat pulling frantically away before the explosion had blasted the fisherman apart. Whoever they had been must have locked the girl on board before lighting a fuse, something prepared long in advance should they be found by one of the French patrol vessels.

There may have been only a few terrified people; there could have been hundreds who had fled the Terror, selling all their possessions, even themselves, for the chance to escape.

Smugglers? Slavers would be a closer description, and that was too good for them.

Wakeful had been the only witness, and now, because of it, Allday's own life was doubly at risk.

He waited until the major had cantered up beside him and then asked, 'That man you mentioned to me.' He looked at him directly. 'Is he still alive?'

The dragoon nodded, his eyes on the surrounding hedges. 'In his own crazed world. People give him food, though they are careful to keep secret their Christian generosity. My own men toss him some scraps, I suspect. He were better dead. Alive he is a living reminder of what will happen to those who inform on the Brotherhood.'

Bolitho asked, 'Could you find him for me?' He saw the disbelief in his eyes. 'It is just a straw. I can ignore nothing, no matter how futile it may appear.'

The major nodded. 'I shall try.' He glanced at Bolitho's profile. 'I am with you in this affair, sir, for I too am heartily sick of waiting.'

Bolitho reached out and impetuously took his gloved hand.

'So be it!'

He shivered despite the warm air. The time for caution was over.

Apart from the usual marine sentries, the commodore's residence appeared to be deserted, but after asking the corporal of the guard point-blank, Bolitho said, 'He's back.'

Major Craven's orderly stood with Young Matthew holding the horses' heads, and Bolitho noticed that the rest