Smuggler's Moon sjf-8 Page 2

  “Oh?” said Sir John. ”And what is the problem?”

  “I shall explain it all,” said the Lord Chief Justice.

  “Very well, Lord Mansfield, I shall look forward to a more complete explanation from you.”

  Taking that as the proper moment to depart, Mr. Eccles inclined his head sharply in a precise little bow, seemed to wait for Sir John’s answering bob of the head, and then scampered off to claim the hackney in which we had arrived from Bow Street. Somewhere between the door of Lord Mansfield’s residence and the door to the coach, he called out a goodbye. I did not like the fellow.

  “Was I tardy?” Sir John asked Lord Mansfield.

  “By no means,” said the Chief Justice. ”I was given to understand that he wished to come and discuss a matter at length. As it happened, I had the day without cases, and so I was willing to devote the entire afternoon to it. That was how I framed my invitation to you, was it not?”

  “Yes, but for some reason, about half an hour past I suddenly felt a great sense of urgency in getting over here.”

  “Hmmm,” said Lord Mansfield, looking at him a bit queerly, ”that would probably have been about the time that he arrived. He came in, blurted out an accusation, and explained that he must get on to an appointment with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. He certainly lets one know where he stands in relative importance to members of the government, does he not?”

  “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  This brief conversation took place at the open door to the residence. It concluded there when the host offered an invitation to ”come along to my study, and we shall talk this matter through.”

  We entered, and the butler-my old adversary-closed the door after us and then brought us to the study. The Lord Chief Justice seemed quite content to allow him to lead the way, which struck me as odd. Was he unsure of its location? The butler stood aside at the open double door of the study. He frowned at me as I passed him by. It was a look which to me did say, ”They seem to want you inside, and so there is naught I can do to keep you out, and yet if it were left up to me …” He closed the doors after us; that is, he must have, for next I looked at them they were shut-though I had heard not a sound. Ah, butlers! How do they manage?

  “Sit down, Sir John,” said Lord Mansfield. ”I daresay we shall have more to talk about now that Eccles is gone than if he were here.”

  I guided Sir John to a chair, and once he was settled, I looked round for one for myself.

  “Your young fellow can take notes if you like,” said the Chief Justice. ”I’ll provide paper and pen.”

  “Should it be necessary?”

  “There are a few names to remember.”

  “Oh, I’m good at names,” said Sir John. ”Numbers are sometimes a bit of a problem. But let us begin. I assume the problem to which he referred is smuggling.”

  The Lord Chief Justice looked up, an expression of surprise upon his face. ”How did you guess that?”

  “Ah well, simple enough. Our friend Eccles is Chief Customs Officer for east Kent. Customs means import duties, which smugglers evade. And of course east Kent has the most active smuggling trade of any part of England, for it lies just opposite France.”

  “Well … quite right.”

  “And he is now on his way to see the Chancellor of the Exchequer, no doubt, to ask for more money to combat the trade,” said Sir John. ”But indeed the truth is, it is the Chancellor of the Exchequer who caused the problem to begin with-his exorbitant import duties, taxes and so on. Tea and wine are taxed at over double their value, are they not?”

  “Yes … I suppose they are. But see here, Sir John, we’ve been at war for a good part of the time for as long as I can remember. We’ve gone in debt. Money must be raised in some way to retire that debt.”

  “And each time they raise the import duties, smuggling increases.”

  “That is true,” said Lord Mansfield, ”but smuggling must be stamped out. It is a simple matter of enforcing the law, is it not?”

  “Smuggling will never be stamped out, so long as import duties continue so high.”

  The Lord Chief Justice sighed and said nothing for a goodly space of time. He simply studied Sir John, perhaps trying to suppose some means to dissuade him from his contrary position. Apparently there was none.

  But then the magistrate did clear his throat and speak up once more: ”I have an addendum to that which I have just said-an alternative.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  “Either import duties be lowered, or…”

  “Yes?”

  “Those of the aristocracy and the nobility refuse to buy what they know to be contraband goods.”

  “How would they recognize contraband from what has entered legally? Both may carry the proper stamp, or something forged to look quite like it.”

  ”True enough, but smuggled goods are luxury goods-perfume, tobacco, wine, all of that. Persuade those who can afford them to forgo such pleasures, and you will have solved the problem.”

  Lord Mansfield regarded him with dismay. ”I thought for a moment that you were being serious. I shall know better next time.”

  “I was being serious-or at least I was trying to make a serious point. And that, Lord Mansfield, is that there is no practical likelihood of reducing smuggling in east Kent, or in any other part of England-not now, in any case.”

  “Mr. George Eccles says otherwise.”

  “He would, wouldn’t he?” said Sir John. ”I did not like the man, you know, rather a self-important sort.”

  “That may be, and for that matter I did not like him, either. Nevertheless, I fear we must take what he says seriously.”

  “And what has he to say?” Sir John put it to him as a sort of challenge. ”There was something about an accusation, was there not?”

  “Indeed there was-and a very serious one it is. According to Eccles, nothing of substance can be done to diminish smuggling in his section of Kent unless we get rid of the local magistrate, a young man named Albert Sarton.”

  “He says that, does he?”

  “Oh, he says far worse. According to Mr. Eccles-and I quote him-”The man is either corrupt, or the most incompetent ever in the history of the magistracy.’”

  “That indeed is a powerful indictment,” said Sir John. ”Yet I have known colleagues who impressed me as both corrupt and incompetent.” A sly smile spread across his face. ”Please don’t press me for names, Lord Mansfield.”

  “The odd thing is,” said the judge, ”I’ve met the fellow, and he didn’t seem at all as Eccles described him.”

  “You’ve met this Albert Sarton?”

  “Yes, I have, and I remember him well. As it comes to me, I had been invited up to Oxford to address the law faculty and students. The invitation came from an old friend of mine, a former classmate he was and now a professor there. At the party given me afterward, he brought forward a good-looking young fellow not much older than your lad here”-nodding toward me. ”He gave his name as Albert Sarton and said that he was quite the most promising student lawyer they had had at Oxford in his memory. He urged me to keep young Sarton in mind for the judiciary-after a proper amount of seasoning, understand. Well, then he left me with this young fellow, and I had a chance to talk with him myself, and I must say, I was very favorably impressed by him. Not only did he show great intelligence, he also showed something far rarer among those young university fellows-good sense.

  “All this was a few years past,” he continued. ”But when, just last year, the post in Deal came open, I remembered meeting this young Sarton, and I inquired after him. I found he had just passed the bar and was looking for a post. Work as a magistrate has always seemed to me good preparation for a career in the judiciary-as I’ve said to you, Sir John, each time I’ve offered a judgeship to you.”

  Sir John waved a hand in a dismissive manner. ”Well, we needn’t go into that again,” said he.

  “As you wish. But to continue, I happened to have anothe
r old friend in Deal, a squire who lives in a manor house up above the town-a Sir Simon Grenville. Do you perchance know him, too? I was specially close to his father at Oxford.”

  “I fear not, Lord Mansfield. I leave London only on those errands on which you have sent me. I know no one in Deal.”

  “Ah, well.” The chief justice shrugged indifferently. ”In any case, he is quite influential in those parts, and when he heard that young Sarton came so highly recommended, he promised to do all that he could to see that the post was offered to him. That, essentially, was all that was necessary, though Sir Simon did say that there was some slight opposition to Albert Sarton because he was not from east Kent.”

  “They don’t like outsiders, I take it.”

  “Don’t seem to-no, they don’t. In any case, Sarton got the job, partly through my sponsorship, and I’d heard nothing ill of him until this man George Eccles came forth with these complaints. They all have to do with the smuggling trade thereabouts. Deal seems to be the center of it, at least currently. Eccles says he is letting known smugglers go free, and so on. Says he even consorts with them. Frankly, I find it difficult to credit his complaints. First of all, they were not at all specific. Secondly, I know Sarton is not stupid-and therefore not likely to be incompetent; and as for him being corrupt, well, having met him and talked with him at some length, I can only say, I doubt it.”

  “Did you express these doubts to Mr. Eccles?” asked Sir John.

  “No, I did not. His appointment with the Chancellor of the Exchequer intervened. As soon as ever he had unburdened himself against Albert Sarton, he leapt to his feet and announced that he must be off to meet with no less than the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself. I had the awful feeling when he told me that he meant it to impress me.”

  “Surely not,” said Sir John, suppressing a snicker.

  “Well, one does get these suspicions from time to time.”

  “Hmmm, tell me then, what do you wish me to do about all this?”

  “Oh, I think you know. I’d like you to go down there to Deal and meet this Albert Sarton, look at his court records, interview him, ask round town about him, and form your own judgment of him. If it goes against him, then I shall pull him from his post immediately. Even if you have naught but misgivings, I shall remove him. I cannot have the power of one magistrate challenged, for it calls to question the authority of all the rest.”

  Sir John sighed and said nothing for a long moment. At last did he speak up, saying, ”You give me greater right to judge him in this matter than I desire. How long would you say I should devote to this matter?”

  “Oh, a few days, a week at the most.”

  “Well, I doubt I can make an investigation of such importance in such a short time. The future of this Sarton fellow depends upon it, after all.”

  “Then take as long as you must.”

  “I have another objection-a personal one.”

  “All right, let me hear it.”

  “You could not have asked me to go at a worse time. My wife has gone up north to care for her ill mother, who seems near death. Departing thus, she has left me in charge of the two children-the lad here, who offers no problem, and a girl of fifteen, who does. I cannot leave her here, yet even less easily can I bring her with us to Kent.”

  Lord Mansfield considered the matter. ”I would call that a problem,” said he, ”albeit not an insoluble one. Let me tell you what accommodation I can make. I shall find you a place at the residence of Sir Simon Grenville. If I write him within the next hour, I can catch the last post coach, so that he will have a day’s notice before your arrival. The fellow is ever after me to come down for a visit. He’ll be happy to welcome you.”

  Sir John appeared a bit troubled by the suggestion. ”I should say, sir, that it does not necessarily follow that he would accept me as a reasonable substitute for your distinguished self.”

  “He will if I tell him to,” said the Lord Chief Justice in a manner which made it clear he would brook no argument from Sir Simon, Sir John, nor indeed from any other.

  “Perhaps.”

  “It would be far better,” said Lord Mansfield, ”to have the girl you mentioned in the manor house than in such quarters as the town of Deal might provide.”

  ”I’ll grant you that.”

  “And I daresay Sir Simon will be your best contact there in Deal. He knows Sarton, of course, having connived with me to put him in his position. And he must know Eccles, as well. In fact, he should be able to introduce you to any number who can be helpful there in Deal. It is, after all, no city.” Lord Mansfield stopped abruptly at that point, thrust forward, chin first, and growled, ”Well, what do you say?”

  “What indeed? You seem to have thought of everything.”

  “No, not quite. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll provide transportation, as well. I’ll not need my coach for the next few days and Lady Mansfield is up at our place in Hampstead. I can get by in hackneys. My coach and coachmen are yours for the remainder of the week.”

  “I am quite overwhelmed. But tell me, who will take my cases?”

  The Lord Chief Justice fluttered his fingers, as if to say that this was a matter of negligible importance. ”Oh, Saunders Welch, I suppose. I shall speak to him myself about it. He’ll not dare to show reluctance.”

  Thus was it settled. The two talked on a few minutes more and between them arranged the details of our departure. I, for one, looked forward to the journey. With Sir John I had visited Portsmouth, Bath, and Oxford, each so different from the other two. Quite naturally I wondered, too, in what way Deal would differ, little knowing the brutal and bloody history that I would write from the events we endured there.

  Lord Mansfield bade a swift farewell, declaring that he must write that letter to Sir Simon Grenville if he were to be given a proper day’s notice. He rang for the butler, who appeared instantly (he must have been eavesdropping at the door) and showed us out to the street.

  Once away, Sir John turned in my direction and asked, ”Is there a hackney about? Can you find one for us?”

  This surprised me. While there had been reason enough to take a coach to Bloomsbury Square-at least it was so in Sir John’s estimation-there seemed little need now to hurry back to Bow Street. Why did we not walk? It was not Sir John’s custom to be so free with his cash.

  I was thus doubly surprised when, after bringing a hackney to him from Hart Street, he called up to the driver the address of a dock in Wapping. I had not the slightest notion of where he might be taking us-nor did I discover until after we had arrived, so tight-lipped was he. During the entire journey he spoke not a word but fell into that state in which it was impossible to discern whether he thought deeply or slept. The black silk band that hid his eyes concealed all from me. Nevertheless, when at last we came to a full halt upon the wooden timbers of the dock, he responded quickly enough, moving so swiftly for the coach door that I had bare time enough to get it open before he launched his leap to the dock.

  It was not until I, too, had alighted and heard a most familiar voice that I called to mind what Sir John had told me days before: his friend (and mine) Black Jack Bilbo had bought a ship. He was ever so pleased with it, I was assured. Yet because he had bought it from the Royal Navy as a ship decommissioned and brought out of service, there were certain alterations to be tended to. It was a sloop and no great man-of-war, but there were cannon on board, thirteen in all, and these would have to be melted down. And since it had had twenty years hard service, there were ordinary repairs to be made upon it. And that, reader, is why the Indian Princess, as Mr. Bilbo had re-christened her, was in dry-dock there in Wapping.

  Now, one question should perhaps be settled before we go further: Why would the owner and operator of London’s most popular gaming club wish to own such a ship? That you might well wonder, reader, and the answer lies in Mr. Bilbo’s dark past. For years there had been rumors that he had been a pirate in the Caribbean and the waters off the North American
colonies before coming to London to launch his gambling enterprise. In fact, it was claimed he had used the proceeds of his free-booting to build and bank his club. Because of these rumors, Sir John often remarked that Mr. Bilbo was a dangerous man for him to know. ”I should not like the fellow,” said he, ”but I do, and there’s an end to it.” And since they were friends, as indeed they were, Sir John had learned from him the kernel of truth at the center of those rumors burgeoning about his past. The truth was, Mr. Bilbo had been not a pirate but rather a privateer, ”too fine a distinction for the London rumormongers.” Quite legally (that is, with a letter of marque), he had plundered French shipping during the Seven Years’ War, taken merchant ships and their cargoes, and sold them, thus amassing his fortune. Those who were in a position to know had told Sir John that there was not a finer captain in a fight than Black Jack Bilbo and that all that he had taken, he had taken fair. The ship he commanded then was a sloop, like unto the one now in dry-dock here in Wapping. With it, under-manned and under-gunned, he took on French vessels of more than twice the tonnage. And so to repeat the question, what did he want with such a ship? It should be obvious: he wanted, in some sense, to recapture his youth; to relive those days of danger-without the danger-or so I now suppose.

  In any case, when from the deck swarming with workmen Mr. Bilbo espied us standing at the edge of the dock as the hackney pulled away, he gave a mighty wave and shouted out, ”Ahoy, you two! Come aboard. Your presence is most welcome!”

  “Is she in or out of water?” Sir John responded.

  “Out for caulking. But she’s steady, and the gangplank’s well set.”

  “Come along, Jeremy,” said he to me. ”Take me there and lead me across.”

  And thus we went. Though the gangplank seemed a bit narrow to me, Sir John seemed not to mind in the least; he went behind me with both hands upon my shoulders. In fact, he urged me to pick up the pace when we were but halfway across, yet in the absence of ropes or banisters, I refused-let him think what he would of me! — for it seemed a mighty chasm below.