Smuggler's Moon

in the Navy.”

”As you wish, Sir John,” said I with a sigh.

“That is how I wish it.”

With that, he took his place in the boat. The oarsmen pushed off, and in not much more than a minute, were there at the Indian Princess. As he had predicted, Sir John made it to the top of the ladder without incident, and there was met by Mr. Bilbo, who helped him over the gunwale and onto the deck. Then, for nearly half an hour, the two men parlayed as they walked every inch of the sloop’s topdeck.

At one point, as I stood watching with the two constables, Mr. Patley remarked to us, ”I wonder what Sir John is planning with that old pirate.”

“Whatever it is,” responded Mr. Bailey, ”it’s going to cause some smuggler one hell of a great lot of trouble.”

NINE

In which Mr. Eccles returns just as the horsemen arrive

The afternoon drive from Gravesend back to Deal was uneventful, save for the one incident which I have described, wherein quite unexpectedly Sir John declared that an attack upon an officer of the court was an attack upon the law itself. He broke what had been a long silence to say that-yet silence, in this case, should be understood only in a relative sense. Certainly, there had been naught said by the two constables for many miles; having put in a full night marching about the unruly precincts of London, they were naturally quite tired. They promptly fell asleep as Mr. Crawly set his coach upon the main road and headed for Deal. I remained awake, yet though I sat next to Sir John, he showed little inclination to talk to me. Nevertheless, he was far from quiet. There were steady murmurings and grunts from him; he must be either in deep conversation with himself, or in a troubled sleep. All other signs-his erect posture in the seat, the swiftly altering expressions of his face-indicated that the former was the more likely.

I wished to ask him questions. Indeed I wished to know just what it was he and Mr. Bilbo had discussed at such length as they ambled back and forth cross the decks of the Indian Princess. Clearly, Sir John had a plan, one which included Mr. Bilbo and perhaps also his ship. And I had an important matter to communicate to Sir John as well: I had not yet had the opportunity to tell him of the detachment of cavalry which would soon be under his command. Nevertheless, I kept my peace. There was simply no getting through to him whilst he was in such a state.

I did make only one attempt to do so, and that was just following his sudden pronouncement. He had spoken out with such authority that he roused both the sleeping constables; they sat up in their seats, blinked, and waited for him to continue. When he did not, they allowed their eyelids to droop once more and soon were fast asleep just as before. For my part, I took a chance, and once it was clear that he would add nothing to what he had said, I decided to tell him what I had to tell.

“Sir John,” I blurted, ”I’ve an important bit of information for you.”

“Can it wait?”

“Well, I suppose it can.”

“Then later, please.”

And having said that, he went back to his muttering. His conversation with himself thus continued.

As it happened, I had not the chance to tell him of the cavalry’s impending arrival until much later that day; it was, in fact, well into evening when I did. After we had eaten dinner-and a fine dinner it was, prepared for us by Mrs. Sarton (Clarissa also had a hand in it)-Sir John met with his constables to acquaint them with the situation in Deal before Mr. Perkins took them out to show them the town. Only after they had departed did I take it upon myself to knock upon the door to the little room which had served Albert Sarton as his study. Invited inside, I took a chair just opposite the one in which Sir John sat at the desk.

“Well, Jeremy,” said he, ”I believe you told me earlier that you had an important bit of information which you wished to pass on to me.”

“That’s right, sir, I do.”

“I asked you then to hold it until later. Well, this is later, is it not? Let me hear this information.”

Whereupon I disclosed that he would, in a day or two, have a small contingent of cavalry at his disposal.

“Good God!” said he. ”This is terrible!”

Did he truly think so? But why? Actually, I thought it rather a grand idea, but I kept this opinion to myself.

“Whose notion was this?” asked Sir John.

“Lord Mansfield’s,” said I.

“Well, if it was his idea, then there’s no sending them back, is there?”

“I suppose not,” said I. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: ”He must have felt that the situation here, as you described it in your letter, was so desperate that you would need such aid to set it right.”

“Hmmm, well, yes, I fear I did paint rather a grim sort of picture. Perhaps I should have been a little less … convincing.”

“Can’t you find some use for them, Sir John?”

He gave that some thought. ”Perhaps I can. I just hadn’t thought of such before. But … but … where shall I put them?”

There I could give him no help at all, and so I simply kept silent.

“I shall give it some thought.” He nodded then, which I took as a sign that he wished to be left alone.

I rose, excused myself, and made to go. He had, however, one last word for me.

”Jeremy, I had neglected to tell you this, but the funeral for Mr. Sarton will be held tomorrow at ten. We shall all attend. Please wear your best. I trust you have a clean shirt?”

The services, which were held at St. George’s church, were coldly formal, remarkably short, and sadly ill- attended. If a person were to have come in as a stranger (as I did), it would not have taken him long to perceive that the vicar had been no friend to the man in the coffin. Where he might have made remarks in praise of Mr. Sarton, he said nothing, even went so far as to call attention to the omission.

“At this point,” he had said, ”time is often taken to speak well of him whom we bury. We shall instead return to the Service for the Dead.” And return to it he did.

Molly Sarton, sitting quite nearby, started up from her place and was restrained by Mrs. Keen and Clarissa, who were on either side of her. I do believe she meant to attack the vicar, and I, for one, would have thought her justified. This was explained sotto voce by Clarissa to Sir John, who sat farthest away.

Was all this evident animosity to the Sartons caused by the irregularities at the start of their marriage? The scandal of a single man and woman living under the same roof, et cetera? Had I not heard that at first the vicar had refused to marry them? Such a to-do over so little!

We pallbearers four-constables Bailey, Patley, Perkins, and I-sat off to one side of the church, from which vantage we had a good view of all in attendance. There were not many. Of the eight mourners present, I recognized only three: there was, first of all, the unnamed server in Mrs. Keen’s tearoom; there was also Dick Dickens, once a smuggler and now an exciseman; the third, however, a late arrival, did surprise me completely when he appeared, for it was no less than Sir Simon Grenville.

At the end of the service, having heard the great amen, we pallbearers came forward and followed the vicar out to the churchyard as we carried the coffin between us. He continued reading aloud from the Book of Common Prayer, yet mumbling as though to himself. Following us were the widow, supported by Mrs. Keen; Sir John, shown the way by Clarissa; and finally, those of the mourners who wished to hear the final graveside prayers.

Not all of them came. Mr. Dickens, the server from Mrs. Keen’s shop, and one other took that opportunity to absent themselves, so that there were but five trailing in the cortege. The little group fit comfortably about the