Belatedly joining the gentlemen at the breakfast table the following morning, Camilla said baldly, ‘Guy is refusing to wait for the doctor and insisting Ned gets him up and into a chair, Adam. He’ll be ready to receive you in about half an hour.’
‘He’s well enough?’
‘He says so. And to be honest, I think he’ll feel better when the ordeal of talking about what happened is behind him. So far, he’s refused to say anything of it to either me or Ned – but he knows he has to tell you as much as he can.’ She managed a crooked smile. ‘As for our betrothal, he seems reconciled to that if not exactly overjoyed.’
‘Good. For the rest, I promise not to agitate him unnecessarily and --’
‘You don’t need to tell me that. I know you’ll be kind.’ She set about buttering her toast and deliberately changed the subject. ‘Did you make any progress with Corbeau’s despatch, Rainham?’
‘Possibly. I’m not sure. Why don’t you take a look with me this morning?’
She sent him a brief, arid glance. ‘You don’t need to find ways to occupy me, you know. I’ve no intention of getting in Adam’s way by hovering over Guy – or even listening outside the door. But I’ll be happy to join you after I’ve gathered the servants together and announced my betrothal.’
‘You don’t want me there when you do that?’ asked Adam.
‘Better not. Unless you want to watch the maids cry?’
Adam found Guy sitting in an armchair by the window and swathed in a thick woollen robe that had seen better days but looked warm and comfortable. He was pale and a little gaunt, with dark shadows under his eyes, bruises lingering on cheekbone and jaw and lines of pain forming about his mouth. Although he looked a good deal better than when Adam had last seen him on the night of the rescue, he still appeared high-strung and fragile.
Deciding on a cautious approach, Adam said pleasantly, ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Edgerton-Foxe. I know you can’t have been looking forward to it.’
‘I haven’t.’ Guy waved him towards the chair opposite his own. ‘But that’s not your fault. And since we’re to be related, you might as well drop the formalities.’ He hesitated briefly and then added awkwardly, ‘I owe you an apology. When we first met, I was … I wasn’t very polite, though I can’t recall why not. Anyway, I’m sorry for it.’
‘Forget it, Guy. I have. It’s of no consequence now.’
‘Good of you to say so but not true.’ He drew a slow, careful breath and then another. ‘I know what you did for me – you and Lord Rainham. But for you, I’d still be rotting in some hovel or other. So along with the apology comes my gratitude. A great deal of it.’
Adam crossed one leg over the other and eyed the younger man thoughtfully. This wasn’t the brash, bumptious idiot he’d met previously. His experience at the hands of the smugglers had clearly been a salutary one.
‘Don’t be too grateful. My motives weren’t entirely unselfish. I had to do something half-way heroic – how else was I going to persuade your sister to look twice at me?’
Guy almost smiled but shook his head. ‘I know what you did. I was there.’
‘Yes. And I hope that only you, I and Rainham know how close my actions came to getting your throat cut. But at the time, it was either that or let his lordship blow the fellow’s head off – in which case there was no predicting what might happen. So the risk seemed worth taking.’
‘Was it a risk? It happened … it was so fast I couldn’t … didn’t …’
Guy lost his battle against the cough and gave way to it, arms tight across his ribs. Swiftly, Adam fetched a glass of water from the night-stand and put it in his hand, saying, ‘Stop talking and just breathe. If you have a relapse Camilla will make me suffer for it and you have no idea how much trouble I’m in already – considering I only proposed yesterday.’
The awful coughing seemed to go on and on but eventually it ebbed, leaving Guy white with pain and breathing in short, uneven gasps. When he was finally able, he said, ‘Don’t … please don’t make me laugh. It bloody hurts.’
Adam nodded and said sympathetically, ‘Gave you a kicking, did they?’
‘More than one.’
Another nod. ‘When you’re ready, do you think you could tell me what happened – right from the first moment? I imagine it coincided with the arrival of the dragoons.’
‘Yes. I was with Dan Clements – the fellow with the knife.’
‘And who you’d thought was a friend?’
‘Yes. And he had been, up until that night. He asked me if Millie knew I helped with the runs – if I’d told her. I said no. Then the dragoons came … and the next thing I knew, I was tied up in a boat.’
The tale was delivered in short, staccato sentences, sometimes separated by pauses while Guy tried to control both his breathing and the cough. But bit by bit, Adam heard about the first forty-eight hours during which he had been beaten, repeatedly asked the same questions and kept in damp, reeking fishing huts; and then about the transfer to the lighthouse and seeing Clements for the first time since landing on Denge Marsh.
‘You knew where you were?’ asked Adam, frowning a little.
‘Oh yes. Though not exactly till the lighthouse.’
‘And the other men guarding you … did you recognise any of them?’
‘No. It wasn’t always the same ones. They’d probably been chosen because they didn’t know me. But I heard names from time to time and can remember some of them.’
‘Good.’ Adam didn’t expect those names to yield much that was useful. They would almost certainly belong to men at the bottom of the pecking order – the ones who simply did as they were told. ‘Write them down as they come to you. Meanwhile, does the name Seth Reed mean anything? No? What about Erasmus Wilson?’
‘No. Should it?’
‘I believe you’d know him as the Captain.’
‘What? No. Are you sure? Nobody knows the Captain’s name – nobody.’
‘We do. Furthermore, if you ever feel a desire to meet him face to face, Rainham and I have him locked up below stairs.’
Guy gaped at him. ‘When you told Dan that, I thought you were bluffing.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘How the hell did you manage it?’
‘As with many other things … persistence mixed with the occasional stroke of luck,’ replied Adam lightly. ‘What do you know about him?’
‘Personally? Nothing. He’s the fellow who brings the orders about dates and times and where landfall’s to be made. His word is law amongst the smugglers. I only saw him once … and he didn’t seem like someone you’d argue with.’
‘He’s denying that part of his identity. It would be useful if you could confirm it for us. Can you?’
‘Yes.’ Guy was beginning to look and sound tired but he said, ‘What else?’
‘Tell me – very briefly – what your tasks were during a run.’
‘Carrying cargo from the boats to the carts and ponies.’
‘That’s all?’
‘It’s enough to get me arrested, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But we’ll do our best to prevent that happening. Lord Alveston’s name, a dose of chilly hauteur from Rainham and the fact that you’re telling us what you know ought to persuade the authorities toward leniency. Unless …’ Adam paused, frowning. ‘Did you ever have dealings with a Frenchman by the name of Gaston Corbeau?’
‘No. I’ve never heard of him.’
‘Or any Frenchmen at all?’
‘No. Never.’
‘Thank God for that. Now … you’ve done well and I’m grateful but I think you’ve had enough for today.’ He stood up, held out his hand and when Guy took it, ‘If you think of anything else Rainham and I ought to know, send for one of us.’
‘I can’t imagine myself having the nerve to send for Lord Rainham,’ muttered Guy.
‘You haven’t seen him in disguise,’ grinned Adam, strolling to the door. ‘It’s quite an experience, believe me. I’ll send Ned back to you. And if the mail has brought a reply from your uncle, I daresay Camilla will be up to share --’
‘Letters!’ croaked Guy. ‘Damn! I forgot all about them.’
‘Letters?’ Adam froze, his hand already on the door latch. Then, turning slowly and speaking very, very gently, ‘What letters?’
Five minutes later, Adam burst into the library and started talking very fast.
‘Say that again,’ demanded Rainham, after a moment. ‘Guy did what?’
‘After the previous run, he received orders to deliver a letter to a book-keeper in Dymchurch. He was asked to wait. Then he was given a second letter … or quite possibly the same one in new wrapping,’ said Adam as dispassionately as he was able. ‘He took that one to a Mr Harker at the office of Meredith, Burridge & Harker, solicitors, in Lydd. We need to go there.’
‘We do,’ agreed Rainham, coming to his feet.
‘Wait,’ said Camilla. ‘What else did Guy tell you?’
‘Very little we didn’t already know. One point of interest is that he wasn’t normally charged with delivering paperwork. He said the Captain had a handful of trusted lieutenants who undertook that sort of thing – men like Thompson and Sedge. Another such was Brewster, the under-groom here at Dragon Hall – who disappeared the same night Guy was abducted.’
‘And is therefore either dead, fled or in Dover Castle,’ remarked Rainham. ‘But we can find out which later. First, let’s go and have a chat with Mr Harker.’
An hour after the gentlemen had ridden to Lydd, a smart travelling carriage drawn by four grey horses pulled up in the stable yard of Dragon Hall. Camilla, who was upstairs alleviating her brother’s growing boredom with a sedate game of whist, knew nothing about it until Coombes appeared and said somewhat breathlessly, ‘Sir - Miss Millie – my lord Alveston is here.’
Guy and Camilla stared, first at him and then at each other.
Camilla said, ‘Good heavens! I expected him to write – not turn up on the doorstep.’
‘Keep him away from me, will you?’ muttered Guy miserably. ‘I don’t need a lecture.’
‘Actually, you’re due for one.’ She threw down her cards and stood up. ‘You’ve got off lightly so far – considering Adam and I both intended to rain coals of fire on your head once you were safe. And since you’re not at death’s door, I can’t keep Uncle away indefinitely – or possibly even at all.’
She found the earl in the yellow parlour, stripping off his gloves and looking impatient.
‘Uncle Hugh! This is a pleasant surprise.’
‘A surprise, Millie? It shouldn’t be.’ But he took her hands in his and said, ‘Coombes tells me you’ve got our idiot boy back.’
‘The night before last,’ she replied, rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Not long after I wrote to you the first time. I sent another note yesterday but I suppose you left London before it arrived.’
‘No doubt. How is he?’
‘A little better than when they brought him back.’ Very briefly, she described Guy’s current sufferings and added, ‘Doctor Quinn says the ribs will take time to heal and prescribes rest.’
His lordship nodded. ‘I’ll visit him later. For now, tell me exactly what has been going on here and what Brandon and Rainham are doing about it.’
‘Aside from getting hold of a French despatch, you mean?’ asked Camilla sweetly.
‘Yes. Aside from that – and no, I am not dismissing its importance. But I want details.’
Smiling wryly, she sat down. ‘It’s … complicated.’
‘Simplify it.’ Alveston took the chair facing her. ‘Where are they now, for example?’
‘In Lydd,’ she began, only to stop when Coombes arrived with tea. ‘You’ll be staying, Uncle?’
‘For tonight at least – longer if it seems necessary.’
She nodded. ‘Coombes, please see that a bedchamber is prepared for Lord Alveston and have his luggage taken up.’
‘It is already in hand, Miss Millie. Mrs Poole is readying the chamber across the corridor from Viscount Rainham – unless his lordship would prefer your late father’s rooms?’
His lordship shot a brief, hard glance at his niece and answered for himself. ‘Thank you, Coombes – but any of the guest chambers will be perfectly adequate.’
The butler bowed and withdrew. Briskly, whilst pouring the tea, Camilla said, ‘As I was saying, the gentlemen have gone to Lydd to interrogate a solicitor. But perhaps I’d better start at the beginning?’
‘By all means, do.’
‘Well, then … I suppose it really started when Ad – when Mr Brandon persuaded Lord Wingham to host a meeting with three local Riding Officers.’ With swift economy, Camilla listed all the subsequent events as they had happened, concluding with, ‘And that brings us up to today when Guy spoke of a letter or letters he’d been sent to deliver after the run before last – which is what has taken Adam and Rainham to Lydd.’
Alveston nodded. ‘In the matter of who is behind both the smuggling and the spying, it would appear that all they have so far is one small and completely inconclusive link to the Blane family. Or am I missing something?’
‘If you are intent on avoiding all mention of Corbeau’s despatch, yes. But Erasmus is still in the cellar if you want to get the thumbscrews out and question him yourself … not that I think you’ll get anything more out of him than we have already but you’re welcome to try.’
‘I believe I shall wait until the gentlemen return in the hope of hearing something encouraging.’ Setting his tea aside, he said, ‘So … Rainham is staying here, is he?’
Knowing it couldn’t be put off and inwardly groaning, Camilla nodded and said lightly, ‘As is Mr Brandon. They were living in one of the estate cottages but that became less convenient as matters began to escalate.’
‘Meaning what, precisely?’ And with a hint of irascibility when she didn’t immediately answer, ‘How long have they been here, Millie?’
‘As soon as Guy was abducted, Rainham suggested that, for the sake of security, Ad – Mr Brandon should move here and Coombes agreed that he would feel better knowing there was a gentleman on the premises. Rainham himself has been here since they brought Guy home two nights ago.’
His lordship subjected her to a long, level stare.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong … but this would mean that Ad – Mr Brandon has been in residence for some four or five days, would it not?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it didn’t occur to you to send for your grandmother?’ he snapped. ‘No, of course it didn’t. Indeed, you insisted she remain ignorant of the whole situation.’
‘I didn’t want her worrying about Guy,’ muttered Camilla. ‘And I didn’t want her down here fussing. It would have hindered, not helped.’
‘That may be so. But does the entire neighbourhood know that you are sharing this house unchaperoned with not one but two gentlemen?’
‘Probably. But it hardly matters because --’
‘Are you deranged? Of course it matters.’
‘No. It doesn’t – and please let me finish, Uncle Hugh. It doesn’t matter because … because Mr Brandon has asked me to marry him and I’ve said yes.’ She watched him cautiously, waiting for him to say something and, when he didn’t, added slowly, ‘Rainham seems to think you would have no objection and might even be pleased.’
‘If and when I want Rainham’s opinion on this or any other matter, you and he may be sure that I will ask him,’ retorted Alveston. And then, in a much softer tone, ‘Are you quite certain about this, Millie? Is he? The two of you have known each other for little more than a month, after all. That isn’t very long on which to base the rest of your life.’
‘Not usually, perhaps. But the circumstances have been exceptional. I … know him. And yes, I’m certain. I couldn’t be more certain of anything.’
‘Then I’ll withhold judgement until I have spoken with him. After that, we shall see.’ The earl came to his feet. ‘And now, while we wait for the wanderers to return, I believe I will see what Guy has to say for himself.’
In Lydd, Adam and Rainham found the premises of Meredith, Burridge & Harker at the lower end of the High Street and, once inside, asked to see Mr Harker.
‘He isn’t here just at present, sirs,’ said the very young clerk nervously. ‘He’s been called away on family business and we don’t know when to expect him back.’
Rainham and Adam exchanged sardonic glances. Rainham said, ‘I see. Then perhaps one of the other senior partners?’
‘Both Mr Meredith and Mr Burridge are engaged with clients at present, sirs. You could wait, of course – or maybe old Mr Galton could help? He’s been here longer than anybody.’
Seeing Rainham hesitate, Adam said, ‘Worth a try, don’t you think?’
Sighing in a very lordly way, Rainham said resignedly, ‘Very well. Mr Galton it is.’
Visibly relieved, the clerk led them to a small rear-facing office, its walls lined floor to ceiling with wooden filing drawers. Behind his cluttered desk, a wrinkled old gentleman peered at them through pebble-thick lenses.
‘Lord Rainham and Mr Brandon to see you, Mr Galton, sir,’ announced the clerk loudly.
‘Eh?’
‘Gentlemen to see you,’ bellowed the clerk again. And apologetically to Rainham, ‘He’s a bit deaf, m’lord, so you’ll need to speak up.’
‘For God’s sake!’ muttered Rainham irritably. ‘This won’t do. Let’s go.’
But Adam had caught a gleam of something in the old man’s eyes so he crossed to him, hand outstretched and shouted, ‘Mr Galton? Lord Rainham and I are looking for information and hoping that you may be able to help us.’
‘Eh?’ said Galton again. Then, to the clerk, ‘Go away, boy – go away. Don’t need you hovering, do I? Out. Out!’
The clerk slunk reluctantly from the room. As soon as the door closed, Galton gave a crack of laughter and said simply, ‘He’s new. I’m not.’
‘And not deaf, either?’ asked Adam, amused.
‘No.’ He waved his visitors to the chairs on the far side of his desk. ‘So gentlemen … why are you here and what do you want from me?’
‘Whitehall has charged us with making certain enquiries in pursuit of which we need to speak with one of Mr Harker’s clients,’ said Rainham briskly. ‘Unfortunately, we do not have a name and very few clues to go on. Long-shot though it is, we’re hoping you may be able to help us identify this person.’
‘I’ve worked here forty years and more, my lord. It’s likely I know more about what goes on in these rooms than you think. Try me.’
‘Very well. We believe that the gentleman we’re looking for never visits Mr Harker in person, preferring to conduct his business through third parties. We know that correspondence for him comes to this office, roughly once a month but probably at irregular intervals. What we don’t know but are trying to find out is what Mr Harker does next … in particular, how he communicates with his client. If we knew that, we might --’
‘Know who the client is,’ finished Galton. He leaned back in his chair, looked at them over the top of his spectacles and smiled. ‘It’s your lucky day, gentlemen.’
‘It is?’ asked Adam. ‘How so?’
‘You’re here looking for the truth – and you wouldn’t have got it from Harker.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because, Mr Brandon, you’re talking about the Fordyce file.’ Galton left his desk in favour of one of the banks of drawers. ‘A lot of what’s in these drawers ought to be in the partners’ own rooms … but they don’t want their nice chambers cluttered up with ugly boxes of old paperwork. Dear me, no.’ He pulled open a drawer and began leafing through it. ‘I’ve been with this firm since it was Meredith, Burridge & Belcher. In that time, Meredith and Burridge senior both died and were replaced by their sons. Then, two years ago, Belcher sold his share in the partnership to Harker. Neither Meredith nor Burridge junior thought Fordyce important, so Harker got it … but to my knowledge he’s never troubled to read the whole file. He merely puts the latest instalment on top of the rest.’
‘But you have read it?’ asked Rainham.
‘Oh yes, my lord … and very interesting it is too. No mistaking what business H. Fordyce is in or how long he’s been in it. High time somebody took an interest, if you ask me.’ He pulled out a moderately thick dossier, walked back to his desk and set it down. ‘I’m sure you would like tea, gentlemen. Please excuse me while I attempt to communicate that to young Collins. Also, my bladder is in need of relief so I may be gone for a few minutes.’ Upon which note, he walked out.
The second the door closed behind him, Rainham whisked the file across the desk and opened it. ‘That’s one way to avoid breaching lawyer-client privilege.’
Adam grunted, already busy scanning lists of goods bought and sold; neat columns detailing costs versus profit, alongside the names and sailing dates of the ships on which these goods had travelled; and at the end of each quarter, entries showing amounts of capital either banked or withdrawn.
Rifling through a score of similar sheets, he said, ‘Although they don’t actually say as much, I think some checking would confirm that these pages record every smuggling run for the last five years. Damn. I wish we had Camilla with us.’
‘Well, we haven’t – so pocket a couple of the less recent ones,’ returned Rainham absently as he continued to sift through a sheaf of brief letters. ‘This is no time to worry about ethics – and if Harker never reads the file, he won’t miss them.’
‘Galton will.’ But Adam folded two of the sheets and placed them inside the breast of his coat. ‘What have you got? And best be quick. How long does it take to boil water?’
‘A good many brief letters, all written in the same hand and all signed H. Fordyce. They contain instructions about deposits into and cash withdrawals from Deacon’s bank in Rye. And this one dated four years ago, informing Mr Harker of a new go-between … one Mr Garret. None of which,’ concluded Rainham, moodily stuffing a couple of letters in his pocket and everything else back into the file, ‘tells us who H. Fordyce actually is.’
‘No,’ agreed Adam, ‘it doesn’t. But I’ll lay you five guineas that Galton can.’
They fell silent as Collins bustled in with the tea tray, followed a minute later by Mr Galton saying cheerfully, ‘Apologies, gentlemen. Now … where were we?’
Rainham pushed the file back across the desk.
‘My colleague thinks you know who Fordyce is. Do you?’
‘No. But his correspondence is collected from here by Arthur Garret. And I know whose pocket he’s in.’
‘Go on.’
‘Garret is the local undertaker. He is also, thanks to the influence of one particularly prominent businessman, the district Coroner – a position of authority and standing in the community which he naturally wants to keep.’
‘And one good turn deserves another?’ suggested Adam.
‘It does.’ Galton nodded, smiled and poured himself a cup of tea.
Tired of this roundabout approach, Rainham snapped, ‘And to whom does he owe these good turns?’
‘The Blane family. In particular, Mr Blane the elder … thanks to the influence he wields over most, if not all, of the committees of Romney Marsh.’ The old man pulled a sheet of headed notepaper before him and began writing. He said, ‘You won’t find Garret today. It’s Sir Edmund Morton’s funeral. But when you do catch up with him, show him this.’
And he pushed the paper across for them to read.
If questioned, my advice is to tell the truth. They know. A. Galton.