Smuggler's Moon

He was then far too busy with the oars to bother further with me.

I turned round and started up the sand bluff. As I climbed, it occurred to me that I should have asked the fisherman the name of him who knew the three up ahead as smugglers. Would I ever learn?

As I came upon them, the three seemed to me to lay together where they had fallen. There was no sign that they had been moved. And though there were footprints aplenty in the soft dry sand, they were not the sort that would give a distinct and separate trace. It did appear, however, that a good many men had left the site, as many as ten-though there was no way to be exact.

I bent down and examined the bodies more closely. Immediately I saw that the wounds each had received were quite like the one which had felled Mr. Sarton. Judging from their size, they might well have been inflicted by the same weapon, or at least three weapons of the same bore and weight. The wounds were also placed similarly-that is, between and just above the eyes. And the faces of all three men had been blackened by the discharge of powder. All this was enough to tell me that the murder in Middle Street had likely been committed by the same man-or by one of the same men.

I grasped the cold hand of one of the victims and moved his arm, feeling no resistance or rigidity. What Mr. Donnelly named ”rigor mortis” (Latin, I was certain) had not taken over the limbs of the corpus. I repeated this with the other two and had the same result-as expected. But I happened to look more closely at the face of the third, and I noted that there was something familiar about it. What was it? Where had I seen him before? The identity of this man did, of a sudden, take possession of me. The question of who he might be took on great urgency.

I went so far as to whip out my kerchief, which was reasonably clean, run down to the waterline with it, and dip it. I ran back, holding it, dripping water all the way. Then, returned, I rubbed at his face with the wet linen, removing the layer of gun-soot from it, rubbing it until at last it shone clean enough there in the morning sun. And who should appear before my eyes but Samson Strong, who had testified in his own defense and that of his fellows regarding their misadventure with Mr. Perkins. And these other two-could they be those who had appeared with him before the Deal magistrate? Indeed they could, though I had not seen them well enough from where I sat to be sure of it. What had these three done to deserve such a punishment?

EIGHT

In which I journey to London and voyage back by ship

Upon returning to Sir John, I gave my report and offered to notify the mortician that the bodies on the beach might be collected and prepared for burial. Yet he declined, saying that the surgeon, who had been to the house in Middle Street and gone, had volunteered to attend to it. Sir John ordered me to bed in the guestroom above. Never did I obey an order of his with greater pleasure. So great was my pleasure, indeed, that I came near to sleeping the clock round-and perhaps I would have done just that, had I not been wakened early in the morning by Clarissa, who informed me that I must arise and catch the first coach to London.

“To London?” said I, all surprised. ”Are we to leave with so much unresolved?”

“Not we,” said she, ”but you. You are to carry and deliver a number of letters there.”

”What sort of letters? To whom?”

“Sir John will explain all as soon as he wakes.”

“Wakes? Where did he sleep?”

“Why, with you, part of the night. Have you no memory of it? Just now he is dozing at the desk in that little room by the front door.”

I grunted in response, rubbing my eyes, seeking full wakefulness.

“Come, Jeremy, you must get up,” said she. ”Mrs. Sarton is fixing a fine breakfast for you.”

That was all the encouragement that I required. I ordered Clarissa from my room and leapt into my clothes. Indeed I was hungry, and who would not be after so long a sleep? Now that I was awake, my empty stomach sent up urgent messages that might only be satisfied by a considerable meal.

And that, reader, was what was given me. Mrs. Sarton was clearly determined to carry on, making herself useful, in spite of her evident sadness. To see her thus, so unlike the Molly Sarton we had come to know, was indeed disappointing; nevertheless, though it was true she did not smile, it was also true that except for those first minutes when she wept inconsolably over her fallen husband, I did not see her shed another tear all the time we were in Deal. And in that time she saw to her husband’s burial, buried him, attended to certain matters for Sir John, and cooked for a small army. She was equal to all that was asked of her.

I shall not specify all that she put before me at that noble breakfast, for truth to tell, I do not remember. Let it suffice to say that I ate well and hearty enough to last me through a day of hard traveling. At the end of it, whilst I was lingering over my cup of tea, Clarissa came down the long hall to the kitchen and summoned me to a meeting with Sir John.

“Is it so near time to go?” I asked her.

”Soon,” said she, ”but Sir John would have a word with you first.”

I nodded, rose, and followed her back down the hall. I noted-for the first time, I believe-that Clarissa’s hips had grown (how shall I put it?) more substantial, more shapely, since last I looked. I thought that odd. Was this gawky girl becoming a woman?

As I entered the room, I expected Clarissa to accompany me. But no, she hung back at the door that she might call to Sir John to send me off in a few minutes’ time.

Sir John pushed three letters cross the desk to me.

“Jeremy,” said he, ”these letters are important, among the most important I’ve ever asked you to deliver.” He hesitated. ”Are you armed?”

“Well … yes sir, I kept one of the pistols issued to me. It’s tucked away in the pocket of my coat.”

“Loaded?”

“Yes sir.”

“It goes without saying that you’re certainly not to use it, or even brandish it, except in the most extreme situation. What that should be, I leave to you.”

“I understand, Sir John.”

“Since these letters were dictated last night to Clarissa and are now sealed, I’ll give you some idea of their contents. The first is to Lord Mansfield, the Lord Chief Justice. In it, I have asked him for temporary powers here in Deal. I shall be, in effect, the magistrate of Deal for a period not to exceed a month. This should be delivered direct into his hands, and the proper document should be given you to carry away. Find him, no matter where he may be. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Very well. The other two letters are no less important, but they depend upon the powers to be granted me by Lord Mansfield, and so they are to be delivered after you have the document of appointment in your pocket. They are, in effect, invitations to Mr. John Bilbo and to constables Bailey and Patley to join us in Gravesend.”

“Ah well, that should be pleasant,” said I, not knowing quite what else to say-though why we should be going to Gravesend I could not surmise. ”Seeing them all again, that is.”

“For us, perhaps,” Sir John replied sharply.

I knew not how I had offended. ”Yes sir, will that be all, sir?”

He sighed deeply. ”It should be. If all goes well, I should see you again in three days.”

“So soon?”

“Just so.”

“Sir John?” It was Clarissa, calling in from the hall. ”He must leave now.”

I stood and gathered up the letters from the top of the desk; then did I tuck them away safely in my coat pocket.

“Well then, sir, goodbye to you,” said I to him.

“And Godspeed to you, Jeremy.”