The Blighted Cliffs (27 page)

'Do
you really think the two unconnected?' Nevell's tone spoke his own
answer to the question.

'No,'
I admitted. 'Indeed, I know they are not.'

Overcoming
my misgivings, I told him Samuel's story in brief words, how Webb and
Vitos and Laminak had been together on the cliff-top the day before I
found Vitos. Almost exactly one week back, I realized with a shock;
it seemed an aeon.

Nevell
listened intently. Laminak was clearly new intelligence to him, and
he asked several questions about the man, until I realized I had
confided in him everything I knew. Which seemed little enough when I
remembered I had about a week to turn it into proof of my innocence,
but it seemed to please Nevell.

'Well,'
he said, when I had finished and turned my attention back to the dark
waters. 'You've been most generous with your knowledge.'

'I
have,' I agreed. 'And now, Mr Nevell, if you still lack the urge for
sleep, you might do me the kindness of sharing yours. If Webb is
implicated in Vitos's death, what do you know of him?'

Nevell
pursed his lips. 'What do you know of a man named François de
Barbé-Alarbuis?'

'What
do you know of the baker's boy? As much as he concerns me, which is
to say, not at all. I asked about Webb.'

'De,
Barbé-Alarbuis ' continued Nevell, ignoring me completely, 'is
Buonaparte's Minister of the Treasury.'

'He
must be a rich man.' I was only half listening.

Nevell
shook his head. 'Quite the reverse: he's a bankrupt. Took the French
treasury and invested it recklessly. Now his friends are rich as
lords, and he's got nothing but promissory notes and receipts -
paper.'

'No
doubt the Corsican ogre has been sympathetic.'

'The
Corsican ogre will probably send him off to the Indies to rot in
oblivion. But for the moment, he has the overwhelming concern of
trying to govern, and subdue, half the continent with little more
than whatever coin he can find behind the divan.'

'He
certainly keeps his frigates undermanned.'

'But
that's the mystery of it,' explained Nevell. '
Thermidor
may have been shorthanded, but his army's as strong as ever it was,
and strung out across Europe keeping his grip on power clenched
tight. Still clothed, still armed, still fed and still paid.'

He
looked at me expectantly.

'Then
he's obviously not half so near bankrupted as you supposed.'

'He
is, and he isn't. He survives by grace of a stream of cash, thousands
of pounds a week in gold coin pouring into Paris. And can you hazard
a guess where that gold comes from?'

'Citizens
of a grateful Europe?'

I
sensed some climax was coming, but though Nevell's sense of theatre
was obviously acute, his denouement was niggardly.

'Possibly.
For now, your guesses are as good as any we can manage at the Post
Office. It's a curious thing, nonetheless: the kingdoms of the
continent are up to their crowned heads in debt, and it would take a
rich country to provide Buonaparte with the funds he needs.' He
glanced at me to see if I followed him. 'The sort of country that
could afford to lavish its expenditure on luxuries. Tea. Brandy.
Calicoes. Tobacco.'

I
looked at him in confusion. 'You infer that the satisfaction of our
appetites is somehow also feeding the French?'

'I
infer nothing,' said Nevell coolly, though beneath that implacable
voice I thought I sensed a note of passion. 'But there are facts. If
you wander about the country near Calais and Boulogne, as I recently
have, you will find two enormous depots - small towns, almost - vast
smugglers' markets with every facility the English free-trader could
want. All carefully ordered and maintained by the grace of the French
government.'

'So
Buonaparte supports the smuggling trade?' I asked, incredulous. I
would no more have expected to find Lord Grenville opening the taps
at the local alehouse. 'But why should he do that?'

'Perhaps
because he does not wish us to want for comfort while he tries to
pummel us into submission. Or because he hopes we will drink and
smoke and dress ourselves to death.' Nevell snorted. 'Or perhaps
because somewhere in all, that commerce there is enough of a profit
to be made to keep his throne solvent.' He looked at me shrewdly.
'Smuggled goods don't mysteriously appear in the middle of the
Channel, you know - they must come from somewhere. And there,
wherever it may be, you can be certain that someone will be making a
profit.'

'But
can the proceeds of our vices be so vast as to sustain an empire?'
For all that I contributed to the national debauch, surely we would
needs be a nation beyond the wildest depravity to pay for quite so
much sin and tea.

Mercifully
for the moral standing of our country, Nevell was shaking his head.
'There's certainly money enough to be made in the smuggling trade,
though they hardly publish their accounts, of course. But no, not so
much that Buonaparte could survive off it, I think. Yet I am
convinced that there is some link between the smugglers on these
shores and Buonaparte's coffers. Which is why your work interests me,
Lieutenant, and why I would dearly love to have talked to Hal Webb
before he found his way onto the sea floor. He might have had an
interesting tale or two to tell.'

And
perhaps he could also have told an interesting tale or two about how
Mr Vitos came to be at the foot of a cliff with a broken neck. But
that was just one question among the many that flooded my mind at
every word Nevell spoke. "To begin with: 'And how does a humble
employee of the Post Office come to know all this?'

But
the inscrutable Mr Nevell, who it appeared talked only on matters and
at times of his choosing, murmured a goodnight and retreated to his
hammock. Leaving me as cold, confused and skittish as ever.

11

WE
ENTERED THE HARBOUR THE FOLL
OWING
MORNING, SUNDAY, using the boats to tow us in, for our makeshift sail
had come unstuck in the night. Thankfully, that was the worst that
befell us: whatever the cause of the noises and splashes I'd heard,
or imagined, no-one had come into sight.

Once
we were moored by the boatyards, on the seaward side of the basin, I
discovered the benefit of a devout commander, for Crawley let all but
the barest of skeleton crews off the boat on a day's leave to observe
the Sabbath as we saw fit. It certainly made a change from the sort
of zealot who remembered nothing of the Bible beyond the line about
sparing the rod and spoiling the crew. But although I for once had an
empty day stretching before me, the prospect of some unaccustomed
leisure did not lift my spirits in the least; indeed, it weighed upon
me. The dirty light of the day seemed to tarnish everything it
touched, including my spirits, which were drab enough to begin with.
And the ever-present rain was getting heavier.

It
was the sort of day I might often have spent in a tavern, but I had
no-one to drink with and I doubted many of the locals would welcome a
naval officer to their table. If I went back to my room at the inn, I
would likely be lunatic by nightfall. So I walked through the town,
and knocked on Miss Hoare's door.

A
young girl answered, a scrawny thing, with wide blue eyes and red
hair tied in pig-tails. I doubted she was much younger than Isobel,
but her figure was not yet womanly - or perhaps she was just underfed
- and she lacked Isobel's more thoughtful demeanour.

I
lifted my hat. 'Is Miss Hoare at home?' I asked stoutly. The first
law of sneaking is to be as forthright as possible.

She
giggled behind a cupped hand. 'No, sir,' she said, wobbling into a
low curtsy. 'She ain't.'

This
was excellent news. 'How about Mrs...' I searched my memory for
Isobel’s married name. 'Mrs, urn, Isobel?'

The
blue eyes opened wider still. 'Isobel's 'ere, yes, sir.' She bobbed
again, leaning forward ever so slightly. 'Was you wantin' to see 'er?
We doesn't normally take visitors. 'Specially on a Sunday.'

'Doubtless
you can make an exception.' I was in no mood to be thwarted by this
puck of a gatekeeper.

'Sure
I can,' said the girl, winking heavily. 'For a shillin'.'

Her
opportunism was astounding. 'You'll have tuppence and not a ha'penny
more,' I told her, loath to set her in bad habits.

She
pondered this, chewing on a braid. 'I could do it for a sixpence. An'
that's only a penny for every stripe I'll get if Miss 'oare finds me
out.'

I
wondered where she had learned these bartering skills, and what
future career they might open for her. Clearly they were squandered
on washing.

'Sixpence,
then.' I was reluctant to linger much longer on the doorstep.

A
well-scrubbed palm shot out under my nose, and the coin vanished into
her tiny fist.

'Now
don't spend it all on gin.'

She
smiled innocently. 'Never. Save it for brandy, I do. Come on.'

Grabbing
my hand, she pulled me over the threshold and into a narrow, dimly
lit hallway. 'Is Isobel cxpectin' you?" she asked, tugging me up
a curling flight of stairs. None of the other inmates was to be seen,
thankfully, but the cloy of soap was heavy in the air.

'Not
exactly,' I admitted. 'Why?'

'Nothin'.'
The girl giggled, her braids swinging around her face.

'Sometimes
people likes surprises, I s'pose.'

We
had reached a thin, low-roofed corridor at the top of the house,
lined with doors on either side and hung with liberally embroidered
quotations from the Psalms.

'Incline
not my heart to any evil thing, to practise wicked works with men
that work iniquity,' I read.

My
guide raised a slim finger to her lips. 'Shhh,' she whispered
theatrically. 'Don't want to wake no-one. Isobel's…

But
I needed no more help finding Isobel, for at that moment a door at
the far end of the corridor opened, and she stepped out, wearing
nothing more than a simple white shift, with her dark hair loose
about her shoulders. She saw me and started. A queer look crossed her
face before she came swiftly down the hall to meet me.

'What
are you doing here?' she hissed. 'Don't you know what would happen if
you were found here? And what are you doing with him, Sally?'

"E
fought 'is way in,' said Sally dreamily. 'Like Sir Galahad storming
the Castle Perilous.'

'Well,
it'll be perilous enough for sure if Miss Hoare finds out. Come on.'
Isobel pushed open the nearest door. 'In here, and you stay clear,
Sally.'

Blowing
me an impertinent kiss, Sally skipped off down the stairs.

Isobel
followed me into the tiny room and shut the door behind her.