“Bill Tibbit's death shall never be pursued,” I said dismissively. “It will be ascribed to a feud of the fisherfolk, and left to lie. Mr. Dobbin, the justice, will only exert himself in a matter of quality — such as the Captain's. I understand, now, the agony of Seraphine's mind, in the very midst of the inquest. You had a suspicion of the truth, did you not, and so urged her to keep silent?”
“I had no notion — indeed, I wished her only to say nothing of where I had been, or Dagliesh either, the night of Fielding's death, from anxiety that all our plans should be o'erthrown. But upon reflection, I find it not unlikely that events should have occurred as you have said. Seraphine had reason enough to hate the Captain, and fear his appearance on a lonely road.”
“What did occur between them?” I enquired curiously.
Another knock from Mr. Trimble.
“I shall be with you directly! I pause only for my basket!” I called.
“I see no reason to deny you the intelligence,” Sidmouth said, “from knowing I may depend upon your complete discretion.”
“I was told that Fielding recovered the lady after she suffered a fall from her horse, and was attempting to carry her to the Grange, when he was overtaken by Mr. Crawford's equipage.”
A flash of teeth that betokened a grim smile.
“He had drawn her out to the road itself, with a falsely written message — a plea for help from one of our Royalists, hidden in the Pinny,” Sidmouth said. “A drawing of a white lily was sent with the note; and it arranged to meet in a lonely spot not far from the Grange, in the early hours of the morning, when the moon should have set.” He paused to draw breath.
“You have seen that road at night; you know full well how little aid might be found, did one suffer a mishap. When Seraphine arrived, Fielding was waiting; and she knew him to be attempting her discovery. She fled from him, and was upon the point of escape, when his horse overtook her own — and he dealt her such a severe blow to the head with his whip handle, that she fell unconscious from her mount's back. It is solely by the grace of God she avoided a more severe injury still.”
“But what can have been his purpose?’” I cried.
“We think it probable he wished to detain her some time, in an effort to win that intelligence from her, that should be so deadly to our cause.”
“But why? What reason can Fielding have had, to so disturb your activity? He was an officer of the Royal Navy! Should not the downfall of Napoleon be in the interest of all who claim a part in that noble institution?”
“All, who are not presently dependent upon the Monster's purse,’” Sidmouth replied grimly. “I have believed Captain Fielding a spy of the French for many years; but it was only in recent months that he allowed himself to show his hand, in his attempts to discover my methods. He styled himself an agent of the Revenue men, as he took care that all of Lyme should know; but his treachery had as its object far more than Free Trade. It has ended with his life.”
Mr. Trimble could no longer be thwarted; and I made as if to go, my aching ankles almost numb from the conditions to which I had subjected them. I could not but think that I should never see Geoffrey Sidmouth again, and emotion would rise; but I hurriedly removed the bread and cheese and apples from the basket, and placed it over my arm, and was on the point of turning away, in despair of ever making an audible adieu; when Sidmouth's hand closed over my own, as tightly as a vise.
“To have you leave without a word will tear the very heart from my body,” he said harshly. “However little approbation you accord my actions — despicable, unjust as they may seem — do not deny me the gentleness of your pity! One word of farewell, for God's sake, to a man whose fate is so uncertain!”
I stared at him wordlessly, all but overcome; and in an instant, he had pulled me down beside him in a crushing embrace, made more awkward by the presence of his chains. I felt myself enmeshed in iron, and closed my eyes against the force of it, until I felt his lips move warmly over my own.
“Must you surely die, then?” I said brokenly.
“It seems I must,” he replied, in some bitterness of spirit, “—unless it be that chaos reign, and fire cover the earth, and these bonds be loosed by hands more powerful than my own. But do not cry, dear Jane! Perhaps we shall meet again — be it only beyond the grave!”
I felt the sharp prick of tears to my eyelids, and thrust myself to my feet, unwilling and unable to linger more. At the gaol's entry,? turned for one last glimpse of Geoffrey Sidmouth.
“There may be men with a greater claim to unblemished reputation,’” I said, “but none to bravery. It is something, indeed, to know myself your friend. Adieu, Mr. Sidmouth — and courage! in that most mortal hour.”
And so I knocked upon the portal, and emerged into daylight, and the curious eyes of Gordy Trimble — and let the little gaoler think what calumnies he might.
AN INVOCATION OF FIRE, AND OF CHAOS UNLEASHED. I HAD THOUGHT it a pretty speech, from a man in contemplation of his fate, and gave it no more consideration than I should a verse of Cowper's — stirring words, to be sure, and well-phrased, but with little of prophecy about them. I made my slow way home, and endured a listless dinner, my thoughts unabashedly pensive; for the few moments I had spent in Sidmouth's arms were calculated to send any woman's principles to the winds (yes, even a clergyman's daughter), and at the thought that I should never see him the more, I could not but be melancholy. My father observed me narrowly, but forbore from interrogation; and even James — though ignorant of the cause of my Ianguor — had something of sympathy in his tone as he bade me good night.
“You are returned, then, from your day of liberty?” I said, my hand on the stair-rail. My parents had preceded me to bed, leaving me to close up the house in the manservant's company, with only a tallow taper between us to light the way. If there was the thinnest paring of a new moon, a bank of clouds had sufficed to hide its light, and the night beyond the windows was very black. “I hope it was not entirely a slave to my service.”
“Not a'tall, miss — though I'd count it no hardship if ‘twere.”
“I am deeply grateful for your energy and intelligence, James.”
He blushed scarlet, and knew not where to look. A sudden recovery of his memory, however, gave him relief in providing a purpose. “Beggin' yer pardon, miss, but there's one thing as we forgot to talk of, with Matty Hurley this afternoon.”
“Indeed?”
“You were wonderin’ ‘bout his work on the gangs, if I recollect.”
“I was.”
“And whether he ever worked wit’ Bill Tibbit on a job for the Captain wot's dead.” James threw home the front door bolt with a satisfying thud.
“You need not concern yourself with enquiring further of Mr. Hurley, James,” I began, “for I learned something to advantage this afternoon that makes all such questions of the Captain's garden irrelevant.”
James shrugged. “Don't need to enquire further” he replied. “Me and Matty's talked o’ it already. He never worked wit’ Bill at the Captain's, him havin’ chose his own folk, on the quiet-like, and kept ‘em paid proper. Seems as if Bill spent three or four months up Charmouth way, when he warn't drinkm’ in the Three Cups.”
My interest was piqued despite myself, though the tunnel was no longer an object of mystery. “And did Captain Fielding engage only the one man?”
James shook his head. “There was one or two others. Dick Trevors, and Martin Ciive maybe, and old Ebenezer Smoot, ‘im with the high voice and the soft ‘ead.”
“Dick and — Ebenezer?” My voice, I confess, was tremulous.
James nodded, and paused at the foot of the stairs, preparatory to leaving me for the evening. “Marty died o’ the fever last May, and I ‘aven't seen Dick lately, come to think on it, nor Eb neither.”