‘What on earth was your father doing with these?’
Bessie couldn’t reply. She was as nonplussed as Jack. In the bundle were notes (in different hands); stories torn carefully from newspapers; and three small maps, which between them covered the east coast from Hull to Berwick. Handwritten numbers had been added at various points on the maps, mostly near to the coastline.
Between them they sifted through the bundle. One newspaper story announced: This week a foreigner, who calls himself Timothy Cecilion, was apprehended at Sunderland on suspicion of being a French spy, and since committed to Durham Gaol as he could not give a satisfactory account of himself. He had resided there for six or eight months past, and has made observations on, and draughts of that and the neighbouring harbours of Hartlepool, Tynemouth &c. but till of late pass’d unnoticed, further than being look’d on as a general stranger. A chilling, hand-written note in the margin said, “must be silenced”. Another piece of newspaper, dated two weeks later, reported the strange death of Timothy Cecilion, suspected French spy, while awaiting trial in Durham Gaol.
Yet another note was simply headed Militia followed by a list – Durham 400, Northumberland, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Berwick 560, York city and West Riding 1240, North Riding 270, East Riding and Hull 400.
‘Look at this one,’ said Jack, holding a piece of paper to the candlelight, ‘about two engineers caught at Marlborough Head, St Catherine’s. In the linings of their coats, they found drawings of all the harbours and rivers and plans of the fortifications along that coast. Numbers of guns, weight of metal, every sort of detail. Apparently they were waiting for a boat to take them to Holland.’
‘French?’
‘No. One was a Scotchman, the other English. We still have our enemies within.’
Bessie shook her head for the umpteenth time. ‘I just cannot believe my father could be associated with all this.’ The word that remained unspoken was “traitor”. ‘These things may not have come from here,’ Bessie said hopefully. ‘Maybe Bowser only took the letter and happened to put these in the same safe place.’
‘That could be true.’ Jack ran his fingers through his hair, which flopped about his ears. ‘But I think Bowser did get these from here. It is no accident that we found them along with the letter. I cannot imagine that Bowser killed your father just for that. Though he obviously used the letter to keep Courtney here as your father did, there must have been another reason.’ He wanted to spare Bessie any more grief, yet he had to say it. ‘All this information here gives Bowser a motive. He has suffered at the hands of the French. Look at his colliers that have been seized. If he discovered your father was gathering intelligence for the French, as all this points to, then he probably felt it was his duty to kill him.’
Bessie remained in brooding silence. Now that Jack’s initial excitement was over, he suddenly realised how cold he was, standing there in only his breeches. He went upstairs to put some clothes on. On his return, Bessie had bucked up.
‘Jack, I understand what you have said and I cannot deny that everything points to my father. However, consider these points.’ Jack had learned to respect her sharpness; anyone who dismissed Bessie Acorn lightly was asking for trouble.
‘If what you say is right, why did Bowser not go to the authorities with the evidence instead of killing him?’
‘Maybe an argument broke out.’
‘Hardly. Remember, father was struck on the back of the head. Surely during an altercation, the blow would have been at the front or side of the head.’
‘Very well, I agree.’
‘Having killed him, he could still have handed these over to the sheriff or Axwell or Captain Hogg, but he didn’t.’
‘Not without admitting to murder. How could he explain the papers without implicating himself?’
Bessie frowned. ‘Well, why is Bowser so intent on getting the caddy and its contents back? He has been searching high and low for it. It is obviously very important to him.’
‘Probably he is afraid these papers will be used against him.’
‘How? If we approached the sheriff, it would be impossible to prove they came from Bowser’s house. He could say he’s never seen the tea caddy before and the only people who could identify it are his servants, and they would be too frightened to do so. Even if he admitted the caddy was his, they only have our word for it that the papers were ever there. He could say we put them in there to implicate him. And how could we explain how we came by them? Who is going to believe us, especially you?’ she added, rather unnecessarily Jack thought.
‘Of course, there is another explanation. Your father and Bowser were in this together and they had a disagreement. Your father might have decided he did not want anything more to do with it, whatever it was, and Bowser killed him to protect himself.’
Bessie nodded sadly. ‘You may be right. Whatever the circumstances, Bowser is connected with this dangerous material. Of that I am convinced.’
There was nothing that they could do now. They would clear up in the morning. It was decided that the caddy would live in Bessie’s bedroom. As Jack put the papers back, he spotted on the corner of one of the maps (the one from Hartlepool to Bedlingtonshire) some scribbled numbers: I III LVIII VII VIII. He wondered fleetingly if it was a place reference. He folded up the map and put it away with the rest. He was too tired to give it any further thought.