| |
MONDAY, 2 JULY 1821
I had to postpone speaking with the Tremonts since Cathleen took a turn for the worse during the night. Her temperature rose to such a degree that the fever-stricken young mother had no idea where she was. Thrashing about on the bed, it was impossible to calm her and no amount of explaining where her baby had got off to was sufficient to allay her fears. Once again, we all crowded into Cathleen’s room in the dead of night, attempting to do what we could to make her comfortable. By mid-morning of the following day, Aunt Helen declared she had no choice but to send for Mr. Haworth in London.
“Her father should be the one to make a decision as to whether or not to carry Cathleen home with him, or to leave her here under my care.”
Aunt Helen hastily penned a note to Mr. Haworth apprising him of Cathleen’s illness, adding that the doctor had declared the situation was fast becoming dire. She dispatched me to carry her letter to the Margate Post Office in Cecil Square.
Upon arriving there, I read the Notice tacked to the wall that said no letters ever arrived from London on Monday, but that the post left Margate at eight of the clock every evening. That told me Cathleen’s father might possibly receive Aunt Helen’s letter by mid-day tomorrow, Tuesday.
“When might we expect a reply?” I inquired of the clerk when I handed Aunt Helen’s letter to the portly woman behind the counter.
“That depends upon when the person you’s a-writin’ to replies, but if’n it’s straightaway, the earliest post here from London will arrive at half past six on Wednesday morning, miss.”
I thanked the woman and turned to go, thinking it was likely we would see Mr. Haworth far quicker than that. Were he to catch the steam packet from London immediately after receiving Aunt Helen’s letter tomorrow, he would arrive here a good deal sooner than the return post would take. Making a mental note to apprise Aunt Helen of that fact, I hesitated a moment outdoors before embarking on the return walk home. Instead I turned and headed straight back inside the Post Office to inquire of the clerk how close I was to a street called the Marine Terrace.
“No more’n a hop and a skip, young lady. You could nip over there in a thrice.”
“Very well, thank you, ma’am.” I knew I had walked a goodly distance beyond King Street and also Market Street and from here I could clearly detect the sounds of the sea. The cries of gulls swooping overhead told me I must not be too far from where the Tremonts were staying, as their town house fronted the ocean. I turned back to the lady behind the counter. “And Marine Terrace is just . . .” I pointed the direction I thought I should walk once I was back outdoors.
Nodding, the clerk motioned with a hand. “Pop on ‘round Queen Street. The Marine Terrace is on your left. Harbour’s on the right.”
I made haste to follow the clerk’s directions and in no time, stood once again rapping at the door of Number Seven, Marine Terrace. And a moment later, was once again addressing the Tremont butler, who looked as gloomy as ever this morning in his black attire, the scowl on his face adding credence to his demeanor.
“The Tremont’s presently have a guest, miss. Miss! You mustn’t!”
But, I had already skirted past him and boldly entered the drawing room. “Forgive my barging in, Mrs. Tremont, Mr. Tremont.” Recognizing their ‘guest’, I added, “Constable Fuller.”
Both men had popped to their feet. “Do join us, Miss Abbott.” Mr. Tremont politely indicated a chair near his wife, who sat on the sofa dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Appears you are already acquainted with Constable Fuller.”
“Indeed, I am, sir.” Holding my head high, I walked to the chair where Mr. Tremont had indicated I should sit. “The constable and I spoke only yesterday, after I begged the Custom House official to summon help.” I turned to face the narrow-eyed man now glaring at me. “Doctor Garris indicated to me, sir, that the girl found dead on the ledge was strangled to death before she was thrown from the cliff, is that not true, sir?”
Mrs. Tremont gasped. “Why did you not say so at the outset, sir?” she demanded of Constable Fuller, the expression upon her face one of horror.
Confusion writ upon Mr. Tremont’s countenance, he looked from me to the constable and back again. “As I recall, sir, you informed us that the girl, who is, indeed, our daughter’s maid, merely took a tumble from the edge of the cliff, making her fall an unfortunate accident.”
The constable’s lips firmed as he drew breath. “It was my intent to spare you and your wife . . . ”
“Spare us from what?” demanded Mr. Tremont. “The truth? Good God man! Our daughter has gone missing! We are desperate to find her. My son and a guest in our home are even now out searching for her! What are you and your men doing?”
The constable rose. “At the moment, we have a good many . . . that is, our plate is quite full with far more pressing . . . “ Sketching a slight bow, in actuality no more than a cursory nod of his head, the constable continued to speak even as he crossed the room to take his leave. “I shall report back to you, sir, if anything noteworthy turns up.” The lawman skirted past his host and in seconds, we all heard the slam of the front door as the quite rude man exited the house.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Tremont.
Still on his feet, Mr. Tremont huffed as he began to pace up and down. “If this is the way murder is handled in Margate, then I am all for returning to Oxford at once!”
“We cannot return to Oxford, Harry!” Mrs. Tremont cried from where she sat upon the sofa. “Not until our daughter is safely returned to us.” She glanced at me. “You will forgive us, Miss Abbott. Our grief has escalated to a point beyond endurance.”
Feeling sorry for my thoughtless outburst, I rose to also take my leave. However, at that instant, the door to the house opened and in seconds, Olivia, her brother Ashford, and Noble Carrington all entered the drawing room, the salty scent of sea air clinging to their persons and tickling the nostrils of those of us indoors.
“Juliette!” Olivia cried. “I was disappointed when I did not see you this morning. You are not now leaving are you? Do stay a bit longer, please.” Removing her bonnet, Olivia took a seat near me while her brother and parents fell at once to talking. Noble ambled closer to Olivia, but as there were no additional chairs upon which to sit, he remained standing.
“My cousin has fallen gravely ill,” I told my friend. “Aunt Helen penned a note to her father in London and I only just posted it. When I realized how very near I was to Marine Terrace, I walked this way only to find the constable leaving.”
“Constable Fuller was here? What did he say, Father?” Olivia looked from one parent to the other. “Did he bring news of Priscilla?”
Mr. Tremont’s face was still a thundercloud. “Appears the man has only been revealing half-truths to us. Actually, I’d like to hear more of what you know of the matter, Miss Abbott.”
“Indeed, sir. I am most happy to oblige.” I cast an anxious gaze at Mrs. Tremont before saying, “As I just mentioned to Olivia, my cousin has taken ill and both Doctor Garris and the midwife were sent for yesterday. When they arrived, they indicated to us that the constable had requested they examine the body of the young girl, who I had spotted lying on the ledge below the cliff earlier that morning. Since the doctor and Mrs. Murphy, the midwife, had only just come from the dead-house where they examined the body, they were still discussing their findings when they arrived to tend to my cousin.”
“And . . .?” This from Ashford, who was gazing intently at me while perched on the edge of the sofa next to his still silently sobbing mother.
“The doctor said the girl had been strangled before she was tossed over the cliff; that the fall did not kill her, that she was dead before she fell. My Aunt Helen suspects it is the work of the . . . Gentlemen.”
The faces of nearly everyone in the room revealed confusion over the final word of my disclosure.
“What gentlemen?” Olivia asked, obviously as confused as I had been over the odd phrase, until last evening when Aunt Helen cleared up the matter for me.
“That is preposterous!” cried Mr. Tremont. “What possible business would . . . would my child have with smugglers?”
Apparently the impact of her husband’s remark had not yet fully registered in his wife’s mind for she said, “Priscilla was merely looking for seashells on the beach.”
Ashford spoke up. “I confess I have heard talk regarding gangs of smugglers hereabouts. You recall, Noble, the other evening at the pub a fellow sitting nearby was saying . . .”
“Do be still, Ashford,” his father said. “Go on, Miss Abbott.”
With everyone looking at me, I commenced to tell them very nearly all that Aunt Helen had told me the previous evening, about how the girls might have come upon a smuggler’s shallow tunnel dug into the sand and perhaps uncovered an oilskin pouch containing tea leaves, or even spotted a flotilla of barrels floating in the sea.
“Being curious, Priscilla or her maid might have inadvertently called attention to the oddity, which would have both angered and alarmed the smugglers who could have been hiding nearby watching, and waiting, for an opportunity to tote their smuggled cargo inland. Any number of oddities such as that might have led to a deadly confrontation with a ruthless gang of smugglers,” I concluded.
“Well,” both Mr. Tremont and Ashford exhaled a breath. The elder Tremont said, “Apparently you know far more about the matter than we do, Miss Abbott.”
“I daresay I am quite impressed,” Ashford said. “You are clearly not the common milk-and-water miss one generally meets up with.”
“Well, I am still quite confused,” declared Olivia.
“And I,” Noble added, “remain at a loss as to where we might go now in our search for Priscilla. If a smuggler has kidnapped her and taken her to a cave inside a cliff somewhere up or down the coast, we shan’t have the least notion where to find her. Trudging through the sand along the beach whilst calling out her name has netted nothing beyond ruining Olivia’s slippers.”
“Do be still the lot of you!” cried Mrs. Tremont. “We cannot give up hope!” She turned to address her husband, “Harry, I beg of you, please do something! Quite obviously, the authorities in Margate are not willing, or able, to help us. I propose we send to London for a Bow Street detective to travel here and sort this out. It is clear now that Priscilla is not merely lost, she has been abducted!”
Mr. Tremont exhaled a considering breath. “Well, I-I don’t know, dear. To say truth, I am quite at a loss as to what is the best course to take at this juncture.”
“Are the constable’s men still out searching for her?” Olivia asked.
“Apparently not,” I said. “They are far more concerned with apprehending the remaining members of the notorious North Kent Gang of smugglers. Aunt Helen said the bulk of them got away and are still openly engaged in their wicked activity.”
Silence fell, then Noble broached the scheme that was on everyone’s mind, excluding that of Mrs. Tremont. “I daresay that leaves us with no choice but to join forces with them.”
“Are you suggesting the same thing I’m thinking, old man?” inquired Ashford. “That you and I should become smugglers?”
“Aunt Helen says that at one time or another nearly everyone in Margate falls in with them.” I looked around the room. “There must be something we could do to gain their trust, whilst not letting them know what we are about, of course.”
“I cannot like it,” put in Mr. Tremont, although his tone and the rapt expression on his face said otherwise.
Apparently only now realizing what was afoot, Mrs. Tremont cried, “We did not travel to Margate so our children could become bandits, Harry! I will not have it! You will call a halt to this nonsense at once!”
“Not so fast, my dear. Perhaps the plan has merit.”
“It bloody well does!” Ashford enthused. “Capital idea, Noble!”
“But, what could we do to aid a gang of smugglers?” Olivia wanted to know.
“Harry!”
“It could be dangerous.” Mr. Tremont ignored his wife’s plea.
Olivia anxiously turned to me. “What sort of qualifications must one possess in order to become a smuggler; apart from owning a horse and a cart?”
After considering a moment, I said, “A man must be able-bodied and fearless and not mind working through the night in order to unload a ship’s cargo,” I began, then paused before adding, “My aunt also mentioned another category of workers called tubmen. I believe their job
IS TO TOTE BARRELS of spirits, one carried against their chest, another upon their backs, inland to the smuggler’s caves.” I glanced at Olivia. “Which is clearly not something you or I could do.”
Mrs. Tremont sprang to her feet. “I refuse to listen to one more word of this rubbish! Come along, Harry. I have need of you . . . elsewhere.”
Scarcely glancing at his outraged wife, Mr. Tremont said, “I shall be along in a moment, Nora.”
“Hummp!”
“Mother, would you please ask the housekeeper Mrs. . . . oh, I can never recall the woman’s name. Ask her to bring us a pitcher of lemonade and some cakes and sandwiches,” Olivia said. “Trudging along the sand was quite tiring. I daresay we all could use some sustenance. You will stay, will you not, Juliette?”
“Indeed, I will. Thank you.” For a fleeting second, my thoughts flew to Northumberland Row, where Cathleen lay gravely ill. But as I had been little to no help in caring for her, beyond sitting at her bedside and murmuring words of encouragement now and again, I assumed Aunt Helen and the other three females in the household had matters well in hand. Truth was, I felt far more useful here with the Tremonts. Having witnessed first hand the horrid sight of an innocent young girl, her body battered and bruised, lying dead upon the rocks, I felt compelled to do whatever I could to prevent such a tragedy befalling young Priscilla Tremont.
“Tell us more about these, what did you call them . . . tubmen, Miss Abbott,” Ashford said. “Noble and I could easily carry out such a task, most especially if to do so would lead us to a smuggler’s cave.”
“Aunt Helen said a tubman often suffered damage to his lungs later in life since they must often run beneath the heavy load strapped to their body and in the doing can become over-winded. She also mentioned batsmen, who merely stand guard and watch as the line of tubmen tote their load inland, which sounds as if it could be a far less arduous task except . . .” I paused. “The batsmen carry weapons, pistols, clubs, a flail . . . I confess I am uncertain what a flail is.”
“It’s a farm implement,” Mr. Tremont supplied, “generally used by field hands when threshing grain.”
“What is threshing?” Olivia’s brow furrowed.
“Do, go on, Miss Abbott.”
“Well, according to Aunt Helen, dozens of batsmen are also employed to protect the tubmen as they race inland toting their heavy loads. However, as I said, a batsman’s task is far more dangerous since a clash could occur between the smugglers and the custom officers, that is, if custom agents should arrive on the scene. If gunfire erupts, it can often be deadly on both sides,” I added, my tone becoming apprehensive as I realized where all this talk might be leading.
Still, both Ashford and Noble were nodding with approval.
“I am willing to take the risk if it would help locate my sister,” Ashford declared, looking around the room at the others.
“As am I,” Noble agreed. “How do we . . . locate a smuggler and hire on, or . . . declare our desire to aid the cause?”
I shook my head. “Aunt Helen did not disclose that information to me. And, I confess I did not see a Notice to that effect tacked up on the wall in the Post Office just now.”
Mr. Tremont grinned. “You are an amazing young lady, Miss Abbott. Apart from residing in London, exactly who, if I may be so bold, are your family? I am acquainted with a good many gentlemen in London, might I have met your fath . . .”
“Unfortunately, sir, both my parents are . . .” I looked down. “My father lost his life in the war, and my mother . . .” I paused, not knowing how to proceed, or what to say that did not divulge my deplorable lack of connections.
In truth, I was the granddaughter of a tenant farmer, and my mother had been an actress on the stage in her home country of France. My parents met during the war. My father fell in love and brought my mother back home with him to England where I was later born. I was little more than a child when they both died, which is when I went to live with Cathleen’s aunt Lady Carstairs in London. I served as that lady’s paid companion until less than a twelvemonth ago.
Olivia had placed a hand on my arm. “I am so sorry for your loss, Juliette. Say no more, you reside in Mayfair, therefore you are clearly . . . Quality. Mother approves of you. Just the other day she remarked on your exquisite taste in gowns and bonnets. Your gowns are, indeed, quite lovely and I confess, I am quite jealous that you are able to frequent the most exclusive modiste in London, so . . .” she cast a glance at her father, “nothing more need be said on the matter.”
I smiled at my new friend. “Thank you, Olivia. I am very pleased to have met you and your family.”
“Well, I hope that includes yours truly,” Ashford said, casting a gaze at me, then one at his father, perhaps for approval, perhaps not.
Mr. Tremont nodded. “We are all indebted to you, Miss Abbott. Now, then, about this venture regarding The Gentlemen . . .”
“I daresay we three already are gentlemen!” Ashford declared roundly, which brought smiles to everyone’s faces and served to lighten the mood a trifle. That we were discussing how to join up with a gang of thieves and smugglers in order to rescue a young lady who had been kidnapped by them was quite a serious matter, and, in truth, was a task that none of us had the least notion how to accomplish.
* * *
AT LENGTH, WITH NOTHING hard and fast decided, beyond me being commissioned to put a few more questions to Aunt Helen, and Ashford and Noble planning to spend the evening in one or another of the pubs they frequented, whilst keeping their ears open as they rubbed elbows and downed ale with the locals, I soon departed the elegant town home on Marine Terrace and hurried back to Northumberland Row.
On the way, because I felt terrible about deceiving the Tremont family in regard to my past, my tangled thoughts turned to ruminating on the chain of events that had brought me to Margate. I simply could not confess the whole truth to the Tremonts, that I was little better than a servant myself, that scarcely a twelvemonth ago I had served as a lady’s maid in the country home of Sir Robert and his wife Lady Morland. Upon leaving there, I had returned to London to accept another temporary post to assist Miss Cathleen Haworth catalogue her late aunt Lady Carstairs’ artifacts which led to me serving as Marianne Chalmers’ companion, her husband having been a renowned London curiosity dealer. That position, as well, came to an abrupt end, again through no fault of my own.
Whilst at Morland Manor, I had been a lighthearted, although optimistic young lady of seven and ten and had accepted the temporary post as lady’s maid on a lark, albeit by pretending to be French, no less. At the outset, my ruse had seemed innocent enough, but unbeknownst to me, I was virtually throwing myself headlong into disaster, which had the effect of causing me to henceforth think twice before blurting out every little thing that popped into my head.
The time I spent with Marianne Chalmers in Mayfair had further sobered me, and now, I was once again unwittingly embroiled in deceiving Cathleen Haworth and her father, who had no idea that, in actuality, I might be possessed of a lovely home in Mayfair and in addition to that, also possessed of considerable wealth. If that delightful, and unexpected, event were, indeed, the case, it could be said that, now, today, I was an heiress and could quite possibly snag myself a wealthy husband, perhaps even one possessed of a title! I smiled to myself as I imagined what my country cousin, Nancy Jane Abbott’s reply to that would be. “Gor! My cousin, Miss Juliettte Abbott, the London heiress, and a Lady, no less! Blimey!”
Oh, how I wish I knew how things would eventually sort themselves out, meaning did I have a home in Town, or did I not? Perhaps Cathleen’s father, Mr. Haworth, a prominent London solicitor, could help me. But, no . . . a part of me did not wish to take up that particular matter with him. I would rather wait until I returned home and seek out a solicitor of my own with whom to consult.
However, I did decide then and there, that when the time came, I would refuse to take the money Mr. Haworth intended to pay me for serving as Cathleen’s companion here in Margate. It appeared to me that if Cathleen were left to raise her ill-begotten child on her own, she would have far greater need of the funds than I. And, if upon returning to London, I found myself without a home, I would, indeed, accept the position Mr. Henry Phelps had offered me as his assistant; and worry then about where I would reside. For now, I had to help the Tremont’s sort out the puzzle of Priscilla Tremont’s disappearance . . . and hope it did not lead to yet another murder in Margate.