Captain Wentworth's Persuasion (54 page)

The two guards searched the darkness to see if he came alone. “Nothin’ for your concern. Be gone with ya’,” the larger one warned while they both brought up their guns, prepared to deal with a drunken intrusion.

“Ya’ got drink in there, Boys?” Hollmes staggered closer.

“We be tellin’ ya’ no more. Ya’ need to be leavin’,” the man’s tone became more demanding.

Hollmes plastered on his silliest smile as he stepped forward one more time.“Share ye drink with ole Toby. I be needin’ a drink bad.”

The smaller guard reached out to steady Hollmes’s movements. Chuckling lightly, he spoke a little less intimidatingly,“Ye be drunk enough, ole Toby.”

Realizing he would never have a better opportunity, Hollmes moved quickly. Grabbing both men by their necks, with one swift, powerful thrust, he clanged their heads together, dazing them both.
He let the smaller man slide to his knees while he turned and delivered a well-placed upper cut to the larger of the two. A sharp crack of the guard’s jaw told Hollmes he would have no more worries from him for a while. The smaller man then staggered to his feet, preparing to shoot Hollmes in the back. Used to hand-to-hand combat during boardings, in which the enemy came from all directions at once, Hollmes spun, leg extended, and took out the second guard’s footing. Then he hauled the man back up against the warehouse wall and applied a profound pressure to the man’s neck. In a few seconds, the guard’s limp body slumped against him. Quickly, he moved to drag the bodies out of the light in case someone else came along.

In the back of the warehouse, as Christian Hollmes stepped from the shadows, Frederick, Harwood, Langley, Shipley, and three others slipped through the rear door. Frederick placed a man at each entrance to prevent anyone escaping, and then he sent Timothy Smallridge and Lucas Kendrick to the building’s roof to work their way down from the upper floor. They were his best climbers on board
The Resolve
—no rope or ladder ever stopped either of them.

Hearing the commotion in the front, several men rushed for the main entrance, but Hollmes managed to swing the door shut just as they reached it. In the confusion of their attempted escape, they did not check to see if the door was bolted closed; instead, en masse, they immediately turned toward the other exit, running to find safe refuge.

From his vantage point behind a cluster of barrels, Frederick waited until the group was center court in the warehouse before signaling his men, and then they all stood, guns pointed at the retreating thieves. “Stand and deliver,” Shipley demanded, as the robbers skidded to a halt and prepared to defend themselves.

A few of them foolishly reached for their weapons before realizing men with guns, loaded and cocked, surrounded them.A man near the front slowly put his hands in the air. “Who be you?” he demanded, although he evidently planned to surrender without a fight. Frederick recognized the voice as being that of the local he
had heard on the steps.

“Interested citizens,” Shipley responded as they edged from behind the barrels to take the guns held by those they surrounded.

The man leading the group pointed at the cargo.“Interested in what?” He grinned; a flash of movement in his eyes told Frederick that he planned something.

Without speaking, Frederick motioned ever so slightly with his head, and Harwood nodded in response.They both stepped to the back of the group and took up positions holding hostages to persuade those in the front to abandon any thoughts of a fight.When the group leader noted their changed circumstances, he shoved his hands a bit higher.“How ’bout some Frenchie brandy, Boys?”

Shipley, by silent consent, still spoke for Frederick’s men.Wentworth did not wish to appear to be in charge. “We will help ourselves, But first, where are the rest of your men?”

The same man spoke for the smugglers.“What other men?’ He kept his eyes noncommittal.

Shipley knew now the man spoke half-truths. They stood facing each other—sizing each other up. Shipley shot a glance toward Frederick; he caught it and raised an eyebrow.Then Frederick took the gun he held next to the temple of his hostage and pushed it hard against his head, as if he planned to pull the trigger. The hostage gulped out the word,“Upstairs.”

“Shut up!” the gang’s leader ordered.

“
Ye
shut up!” the scruffy-faced thief shot back.

Frederick motioned with his gun for Harwood to follow him, and they both began to edge their way up the stairs. Meanwhile, Shipley motioned to the others to tie up the ones they had caught. Moving cautiously forward and letting his gun hand lead, Frederick’s mind remained alert although his chest felt tight with dread—one small step at a time, ever closer to the upper levels. He knew by now Kendrick and Smallridge had to be in place and were probably herding those remaining in the warehouse toward him.

But when the attack came, it still took him by surprise. A club came down hard on his forearm, and the gun skittered across the
floor.With his other arm, Frederick reached up to grasp his opponent’s jacket to try to pull the man off balance. In doing so, they became entangled, and they began to wrestle, tumbling down the short flight of stairs. Frederick sensed, rather than felt, Harwood jump clear of this struggle, as well as a perfectly tossed cask of brandy smashed and dripping onto the packed-dirt floor. Banging first against the wall and then against the railing, Frederick held on until they came crashing down in a heap of bone and muscle, slamming into the hardened ground, which served as the floor of the building. Somehow, he ended up on top of his attacker, and he heard the air rush from the man’s lungs as Frederick’s weight hit him full force. Jostling to gain the advantage, Frederick pulled his knee up to first strike the man between his outstretched thighs and then to kneel on the man’s chest, the packed weight of his body pushing down as his knee came under the man’s chin and cut off his air supply. “Move, bastard, and I will kill you,” he growled close to the man’s face.

Sounds of gunfire from above sent Harwood scrambling up the steps, but moments later he reappeared, leading at gunpoint another of the gang of smugglers ahead of him. Kendrick and Smallridge followed, and Frederick gave a silent prayer that all of his men were well.The rest of his men appeared; Hollmes shoved his two captors toward the others. “Are you all right, Sir?” Harwood asked, close to him.

“Yes,” he whispered, aware of his racing pulse.“Let us lock these men up until we see what we have.” Frederick rolled off the man and landed in the puddle of brandy.

They pushed all twelve into a small toolshed inside the warehouse. “Barely enough room to stand!” the men complained, but Frederick’s crew turned a deaf ear. Prisoners secured at last, his men began to survey the accumulated goods. Breaking open one of the casks of brandy, they found cups enough for all of them to share before taking an inventory of what they had recovered.

Frederick and Harwood moved to a table to find any paperwork associated with the haul. Frederick’s arm throbbed from the
pain of the blow, but he simply gritted his teeth. He buttoned his greatcoat to chest level and slid his arm through the opening, bracing the arm to his body, like a sling.

Harwood teased,“You remind me of Napoleon.”

“No Bonaparte jokes, if you please, Mr. Harwood,” Frederick warned.“I keep telling you I am too tall.”

Frederick poured himself one drink; tossed it back, and then poured another to steady his nerves before returning to the task at hand. After a celebratory toast, his men went to work examining what they had found. A smooth brandy was a hot commodity in those parts.The men reported the number of casks at fifty, counting the one from which they already drunk and the one with its contents sloshed on the floor. Opening the crates, Frederick recognized the works of Jacques-Louis David, the dazzling costumes and jewelry fashionable at the court of Napoleon Bonaparte clearly evident in each portrait. Another crate held work from François Gérard, known for his portrait of Madame de Talleyrand. “I prefer landscapes,” Harwood commented when the man held up the painting for Frederick to see. “What will we do with those?” he asked as Frederick indicated for the men to replace the piece in the crate.

“Maybe I should make a contribution to my Prince—repayment for the gift of my title.”

Finally, the men came to the barrels at the far end of the warehouse. “Whew! These surely stink, Captain, even before we have taken the lids off,” Shipley sang out.

“What is in them is all I want to know,” Frederick responded.

“Leave them capped after that.”

They found metal bars to break the seals. Frederick and Harwood ambled over to take a look at the first one, opened by John Langley.“What the hell is that?” Harwood mumbled as he dipped his finger into a black liquid with the consistency of a thick pudding.

“Coal tar,” Cavton Harris asserted as he touched the liquid.

Frederick turned on the man.“Are you sure, Cav?”

“Positive, Captain.”

Langley wiped his hand on his pants. “Why would someone
smuggle in coal tar?”

“It has lots of uses,” Harris assured them, “but why steal it, and why in such huge quantities?”

Frederick waved them on.“Let us see what stinks so badly.”

They had barely cracked the lid on one of the other barrels before they all reached for handkerchiefs to cover their noses and mouths.“I—I am afraid to ask,” Frederick stammered as he backed away from the cylinder.

Tears coming to his eyes, Shipley quickly returned the lid to its place.“Pray tell,
what
is that?” He gasped and coughed to clear his throat.

“Fire and brimstone,” Tweed Swift, a former gunnery mate, stated flatly.

“Explain,” Frederick demanded.

“Sulfur, Sir. I know the smell well.The Bible calls it brimstone; therefore, the phrase ‘fire and brimstone.’ It was a favorite saying when we loaded the guns on
The Resolve
. Sulfur is an ingredient in gunpowder.”

Harwood moved up beside him. “Again, why would anyone smuggle sulfur? It makes no sense.”

“Harwood, did you ever hear of Captain Sir Thomas, Lord Cochrane?” Frederick’s mind raced through the possibilites.

Harwood laughed good-naturedly. “Who has not heard of
Le Loup des Mers
, the Sea Wolf? With the frigate
Pallas
, he alone earned seventy-five thousand pounds sterling in prize money. But Lord Cochrane is in gaol, Sir—part of the London Stock Exchange scandal, a little over a year ago—lost his knighthood—dismissed from the Royal Navy—everything.”

“Then tell me why I overheard those men tonight talking of corresponding with Lord Cochrane?” Frederick muttered, exceedingly unsettled.

“A different Lord Cochrane—I do not know, Captain.” Harwood looked concerned. “If the thieves know Cochrane, it has something to do with the sulfur and the coal tar. It is not likely a man in gaol has use for fancy portraits or French brandy.”

Swift added grimly, “A man could use the sulfur and coal tar if he wanted a big fire or a big explosion.”

“Big . . . like a wall . . . or building . . . or a ship?” Frederick tried to understand the scope of what his man proposed.

“Certainly like a ship.There is enough coal tar and sulfur here to bring down Whitehall or, at least do heavy damage to the War Offices. Saint James even if one wanted to hurt the king. Maybe they planned on breaking Lord Cochrane out of gaol.” Swift thought the idea absurd but a possibility.

Harwood’s tone grew much harder—more distant. “What do you want to do about all this, Captain?”

Frederick had formulated a plan while hiding in the warehouse. “I do not want anyone to get his hands on what we have here, especially considering the dire consequences of mixing these two elements together. Could we load the sulfur and coal tar back onto the wagons and store them in the barn in the north pasture? No one goes up there this time of year.We will find a way of disposing of the barrels—a few at a time. Harville could use some of each in his furniture business. Molten sulfur makes decorative inlays.”

Swift suggested, “We could spread some of the sulfur on the land. It is a slow-release fertilizer—best when it is wet, though.”

“What else?” Frederick wondered.

“Me Ma uses pure powdered sulfur as a medicinal tonic and as a way to clean out the bowels,” Kendrick thought out loud.

“Good,” Frederick noted.“We will figure out ways to get rid of it, little by little—make sure, however, it is not used for gunpowder. What about the coal tar?”

“Besides being used in dye treatments for fabrics, a person can use it to seal roofs—makes a watertight seal.”

The ideas came fast.“My grandmother used it for any skin irritation. The woman swore by it.”

“Put some in paint. It helps to make the wall warmer.The cottagers could use it before the winter comes to keep out the cold.”

“All right,” Frederick interrupted. “We have ideas; we do not need to settle it all tonight, but we do need to move these barrels
before we turn those men over to the authorities.We will leave two of the paintings and some casks of the brandy as evidence. If the gang planned a jailbreak, they will not divulge the presence of the sulfur or the coal tar. Each of you take three casks of brandy. Sell it about the country or drink it. I will not ask what you do with it. However, you should be able to get a pretty penny for them at some of the inns, if that is what you choose.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Shipley spoke for all of them.

Frederick’s unnerving smile reappeared. “You might as well be paid for your work somehow. Now let us hurry; we should all be home in bed before dawn.”

Two hours later, Harwood took the reins of one wagon and Shipley took the reins of the other. “We will all meet you at the north barn tomorrow before dusk to unload. Simply park the wagon out of sight,” Frederick ordered. “Take five casks of brandy back to Hanson Hall for me, will you, Harwood?”