wagons and the horses? Have you solved that?”
“Yes, I’m sure we have. Once we get the wagons unloaded, I’ll have four of my men take them out to a farm outside of town. The owner is someone I trust, and he’s agreed to store the wagons as long as necessary and feed the horses with his own as well.”
“Can you get them out there before daylight? All this must be done in secret, just as I’ve said. I’ll need about twenty-four hours.”
“Oh yes. Believe me, sir, it is also in my interest that all this be kept utterly quiet. If George Eccles should get wind of this …”
“We’re in complete agreement then,” said Sir John, offering his hand. ”Look for me back here sometime toward noon.”
Mr. Dickens clasped it with his own and gave it a firm shake.
“Till then, sir,” said he.
With that, he shut the coach door, and with a word to Mick Crawly, he sent us off to Middle Street.
“Do you trust him?” I asked Sir John, putting it to him bluntly.
“Yes, I do,” said he. ”He has proven himself many times over. You see, Jeremy, he used this long period of inactivity to put into operation a truly formidable intelligence system. He can tell you whoever in Deal is involved in the smuggling trade-and to what extent. If I were asked-and I may be-who should have George Eccles job, I would say it should be Dick Dickens.”
“This in spite of his criminal past?”
“People change, Jeremy. Oliver Perkins changed, as you well know. And I have heard from him that Mr. Dickens’s story is even more dramatic than his own.”
“Oh?” said I-ever the skeptic at that time of my life.
“And how was that?”
“Well, it seems that whilst he was in Newgate, awaiting trial for violation of the excise laws-that is, for smuggling-he managed to write a letter and get it smuggled out and delivered.”
“That was bold of him,” said I.
“Far bolder than you think, for the letter was written and delivered to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. And boldest of all was its content, for in the letter, Dickens set about criticizing the mode of policing our coasts against smuggling. Not only did he tell him what was wrong, he took it upon himself to tell the Chancellor how it might be put right. The remarkable thing was that what Dickens put forth was all quite practical and helpful. He went so far as to suggest that there were other matters he would communicate,
I laughed aloud at that, so taken was I by the fellow’s audacity.
“He was, in effect, asking for a pardon,” said I.
“It would seem so, wouldn’t it? In any case, he got it-though not immediately. First the Chancellor of the Exchequer wanted to look him over. He had Dickens brought to him, and he found that he liked a number of things about him-his cheek, first of all; though more than that, he liked his direct, plainspoken manner; and lastly, he liked his youth, for when all this took place, Dick Dickens was but a few years older than you are now. So he made an arrangement with the Lord Chief Justice-not Lord Mansfield, but his predecessor-and had him released into his custody. No pardon was necessary, for Dickens had not yet been tried, though the result was the same. He enlisted him in the Customs Service, put many of his suggestions into practice, then promptly forgot about him. Dickens rose in the service, was given positions of trust and command, and finally was made Customs Officer for Deal. George Eccles secured his post through preferment at about the same time, and almost immediately the two fell into conflict. Eccles tied Dickens’s hands, just as he did the rest of his officers up and down the coast. And so, unable to operate on his own, Dickens put together a formidable intelligence network. He had made this known to Albert Sarton, and the two were beginning to work together when I made my entrance.”
“And so you then continued the collaboration,” I offered.
“You might say so, yes.” He waited for my response. When none came, he asked, ”Are you now convinced of his reliability?”
“I am,” said I, ”though I confess that it is largely because you approve him. You were ever a better judge of character than I.”
“That is because I am older than you,” said he, ”and have been proven wrong often enough that I’ve learned by necessity how to judge men.”
He said not another word on our journey back to 18 Middle Street. I attempted to draw him out on what might be planned as our next foray against the owling trade. Yet he would not be persuaded. He simply smiled and shook his head, altogether unwilling to commit himself.
It was Molly, the widow Sarton, who wakened me late the following morning. I learned from her that Sir John had been gone for some time and taken Clarissa with him. And where do you suppose they had gone?
”Why, to Deal Castle,” said she. ”According to him, you would understand.”
Oh, I understood-indeed I did. I was to be kept in the dark, just as before. Not even to be present during the interrogation of the prisoners-that did indeed exclude me, did it not?
“He said that he had a task for you that only you or one of the three constables could perform,” she continued. ”What sort of task?”
“He dictated a letter to Clarissa and left it for you to deliver.”
Once again, it seemed, I was to play the post boy.
“To whom am I to deliver it?”
“To that young lieutenant. What’s his name? Tabor, I think it is. He said you’re to wear the brace of pistols you wore last night and …” She hesitated. ”And you’re to use them, but only if you have to, so as to protect the letter.”
Well, thought I, this errand may be more interesting than I had first assumed. It may even be of some importance in the grand scheme of things.
“I shall certainly get it out to him. You’ve got the letter, I assume?”
“Right here in my apron pocket.”
“Any specific instructions-that is, any others besides the brace of pistols?”
“Oh yes. First of all, you’re to take Mr. Crawly’s hackney up there to Sir Simon’s and no other. If he’s not available, then wait till he is.”
“All right. That’s understood.”
“Then, second, you’re to wait while the lieutenant reads it through. Tell him to take special note of all the particulars, and then to burn the letter. And if he doesn’t do it, you’re to take it from him and burn it yourself.”
I’m sure my eyes widened a bit at that. I know that my heart pounded an extra beat or two. In my memory, Sir John had never taken such extreme precautions.
The conversation I have just reported took place in the kitchen as I ate a grand breakfast and she did sip at her tea. Molly seemed to relax visibly after she had delivered Sir John’s instructions to me. I, by contrast, had been put into an uneasy state of mind, imagining ills that might befall me on my way to the Grenville estate. Perhaps to divert me from such thoughts, she introduced a new topic of conversation, one which she supposed might cheer me.
“I hear you’re reading the law with Sir John,” said she to me.
“That’s so,” said I. ”I mean to be a barrister.”
“You’ll make a good one, I’m sure. But you’ll make an even better one with a proper law library. I’d like you to go through Bertie’s books and choose whatsoever you will and take as your own.”
She had quite overwhelmed me with her offer. ”Why,” said I, ”I know not what to say.”
“ ‘Thank you’ will do quite nicely,” said she with a wink. ”Shipping will be a bit, but Sir John said that he would cover the cost for those you pick and for Clarissa’s, too.”
“Clarissa?” How did she figure into this?
“Certainly,” said she, rather defensively. ”She had the same sort of choice I’m giving you. Surely you think that’s fair, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes-yes, of course.”
“She had not so many to choose from, naturally, for Bertie wasn’t much for romances. He did like his poetry,
