boarded 'er, she'd cleared 'er 'old an' was clean as
salt.'
'But
there must be dragoons patrolling the shore?'
'Ridin'
officers,' said Ducker scornfully. 'Drunk. Or ancient. Or in the
smugglers' pockets. An' if they does see somethin' rotten, they 'as
to ride away an' find the dragoons. If they doesn't go runnin' off
the opposite way.'
'And
this scheme is actually designed to catch the smugglers?' It sounded
as though the criminals could hardly have devised it better
themselves.
Ducker
sniffed. 'Cap'n Crawley don't think so. Gets us workin' in shore
parties, or in the boats, most o' the time. Could o' joined the army
if I wanted all that.'
'And
what does the admiral think of him abandoning his command so often?'
I did not imagine that in such desperate times, with the French
menace never far from our shores, he would applaud such profligate
use of his fleet.
But
Ducker had no comment, and lapsed into silence.
We
passed the mighty bulwarks of the castle, where dozens of men
laboured at the walls, and moved into farmland beyond. The empty
fields were flecked white with the chalk that had been ploughed into
them, and rolled away to the horizon across the gently curving
landscape. It felt very high, and very open, though a few small
copses broke the horizon. The castle quickly disappeared behind a
rise, and we walked on in solitude.
'There,'
I said at length, gesturing towards the shore. A low building could
be seen behind a clump of trees, a few hundred yards from the cliff
and near to where I guessed the shot had been fired. 'They must have
heard something.'
'If
you says so.' Ducker showed little enthusiasm. I suspected the task
of chaperoning me was already becoming tedious.
'I
do.'
We
crossed the field, let ourselves through the gate and approached the
building. Or rather the buildings, I saw as we drew nearer, for there
were several: a low brick farmhouse, and half a dozen barns and sheds
in various states of repair forming a rough, open courtyard in front
of it. A vicious reaping hook lay rusting in a patch of weeds, and
hay covered the ground. From somewhere out of sight came the sound of
hens chattering, but the only living thing visible was a dappled
shire pony, his bridle hitched to a ring in the stable wall.
I
crossed the yard, taking care to step around the keepsakes other
animals had left, and banged on the thick front door. It sounded
muffled in the chill February air.
'They
must be out in the fields,' I suggested after a minute had passed in
silence. I banged again, but a snort from the pony was my only
answer.
I
heard a squeak of hinges to my left, and turned to see the door to
one of the sheds standing open. A thin man, with a weathered face and
bright eyes, had emerged and was leaning on a tall pitchfork,
surveying us in silence. His shirt was unbuttoned to the waist and
rolled up to the elbows; despite a lean build, there was no mistaking
the strength in his arms.
'Do
you live here?' I asked.
He
nodded slowly.
'I
am Lieutenant Martin Jerrold of his Majesty's cutter Orestes .'
I noticed Ducker stiffen beside me, as if he did not think I should
have said so. 'This is Mr Ducker.'
The
farmer took this impassively. 'Hamble,' he said at length, with
obvious reluctance. He did not offer his hand.
'Farmer
Hamble, we are investigating the death - which is to say, suspected murder - of a man at the foot of those cliffs over there.'
I waved my arm in the general direction. 'Yesterday morning, shortly
before dawn. Did you hear anything untoward?'
'No.'
'Oh.'
I regathered myself. 'But I heard - that is to say, I heard reports
that a shot was fired, hardly any distance from this very
place.Surely you must have heard it.'
'No.'
Hamble 's
face tightened, and I fancied I saw the prongs of his pitchfork
incline ever so slightly towards me.
'Nothing
at all?' I did not hide my disbelief. 'Had you seen anyone pass by
here earlier, perhaps heading towards the cliffs?'
'No.'
'So
to recapitulate,' I struggled
salt.'
'But
there must be dragoons patrolling the shore?'
'Ridin'
officers,' said Ducker scornfully. 'Drunk. Or ancient. Or in the
smugglers' pockets. An' if they does see somethin' rotten, they 'as
to ride away an' find the dragoons. If they doesn't go runnin' off
the opposite way.'
'And
this scheme is actually designed to catch the smugglers?' It sounded
as though the criminals could hardly have devised it better
themselves.
Ducker
sniffed. 'Cap'n Crawley don't think so. Gets us workin' in shore
parties, or in the boats, most o' the time. Could o' joined the army
if I wanted all that.'
'And
what does the admiral think of him abandoning his command so often?'
I did not imagine that in such desperate times, with the French
menace never far from our shores, he would applaud such profligate
use of his fleet.
But
Ducker had no comment, and lapsed into silence.
We
passed the mighty bulwarks of the castle, where dozens of men
laboured at the walls, and moved into farmland beyond. The empty
fields were flecked white with the chalk that had been ploughed into
them, and rolled away to the horizon across the gently curving
landscape. It felt very high, and very open, though a few small
copses broke the horizon. The castle quickly disappeared behind a
rise, and we walked on in solitude.
'There,'
I said at length, gesturing towards the shore. A low building could
be seen behind a clump of trees, a few hundred yards from the cliff
and near to where I guessed the shot had been fired. 'They must have
heard something.'
'If
you says so.' Ducker showed little enthusiasm. I suspected the task
of chaperoning me was already becoming tedious.
'I
do.'
We
crossed the field, let ourselves through the gate and approached the
building. Or rather the buildings, I saw as we drew nearer, for there
were several: a low brick farmhouse, and half a dozen barns and sheds
in various states of repair forming a rough, open courtyard in front
of it. A vicious reaping hook lay rusting in a patch of weeds, and
hay covered the ground. From somewhere out of sight came the sound of
hens chattering, but the only living thing visible was a dappled
shire pony, his bridle hitched to a ring in the stable wall.
I
crossed the yard, taking care to step around the keepsakes other
animals had left, and banged on the thick front door. It sounded
muffled in the chill February air.
'They
must be out in the fields,' I suggested after a minute had passed in
silence. I banged again, but a snort from the pony was my only
answer.
I
heard a squeak of hinges to my left, and turned to see the door to
one of the sheds standing open. A thin man, with a weathered face and
bright eyes, had emerged and was leaning on a tall pitchfork,
surveying us in silence. His shirt was unbuttoned to the waist and
rolled up to the elbows; despite a lean build, there was no mistaking
the strength in his arms.
'Do
you live here?' I asked.
He
nodded slowly.
'I
am Lieutenant Martin Jerrold of his Majesty's cutter Orestes .'
I noticed Ducker stiffen beside me, as if he did not think I should
have said so. 'This is Mr Ducker.'
The
farmer took this impassively. 'Hamble,' he said at length, with
obvious reluctance. He did not offer his hand.
'Farmer
Hamble, we are investigating the death - which is to say, suspected murder - of a man at the foot of those cliffs over there.'
I waved my arm in the general direction. 'Yesterday morning, shortly
before dawn. Did you hear anything untoward?'
'No.'
'Oh.'
I regathered myself. 'But I heard - that is to say, I heard reports
that a shot was fired, hardly any distance from this very
place.Surely you must have heard it.'
'No.'
Hamble 's
face tightened, and I fancied I saw the prongs of his pitchfork
incline ever so slightly towards me.
'Nothing
at all?' I did not hide my disbelief. 'Had you seen anyone pass by
here earlier, perhaps heading towards the cliffs?'
'No.'
'So
to recapitulate,' I struggled
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