Chapter Twenty Four
‘A present from the gentlemen,
along o’ being good!’
The following day, a note arrived by messenger from Lenore. It simply said, ‘Please come.’
In the early afternoon and accompanied by Jimmy, Julia set off. The house looked deserted when they arrived, but the same manservant as before answered the door and led her to the room where she had had her interview with Gerald on her previous visit.
Even the old dog was lying by the desk. It raised its head on her entrance, the clouded brown eyes looked intently at her, then realising she wasn’t Gerald, it flopped mournfully down again. Julia knelt down and patted Flush, struggling to stop the tears forming behind her eyelids.
The door opened and Lenore, exquisite in pale yellow, walked in, hands outstretched.
‘Ah, ma chérie, so kind of you to come.’
Automatically, Julia took the hands and received a salute on both cheeks. Lovely as she was, Lenore’s face was strained, the eyes too bright with shadows beneath them. There was no sign of mourning though with the colour of the dress and matching ribbon threaded through her curls.
‘Please, sit down.’
Julia did, and for a moment the two women looked at one another in silence.
‘What are you going to do?’ The words tumbled from Julia.
With a nervous laugh, Lenore tossed her curls. ‘Do? There is little I can do. With Gerald’s death there is nothing here for me.’
There was bitterness in her voice. ‘His fortune has gone. All that is left is debts.’
Lenore’s eyes hardened as she added, ‘I have friends in London.’
With a shrug of her shoulders, she continued on. ‘I must think of my future. Here there is nothing. You will not be dancing at my wedding now.’
This was said with a wry smile, and Julia could only stare at her while admiring her courage.
‘As a Frenchwoman in this county, I am regarded with suspicion, although of course I know nothing of smuggling or any other activities.’
Lenore’s eyes were wide open and so innocent looking that Julia determined any man would believe her.
‘In London I can make a fresh start. There, I will be a novelty, and I am sure as I am still beautiful, that some rich gentleman will want to be my protector.’
Her candour almost took Julia’s breath away, and it was quite obvious that, upset as she was by Gerald’s death, Lenore would not grieve but would find another lover.
‘Lenore, may I ask you if Gerald was involved in any espionage with the Bonapartist faction?’
A fleeting smile crossed the other woman’s face.
‘To anyone else, I should say, no. To you, Julie cherie, the truth is Gerald was an ardent Bonapartist and worked actively with the party. Where do you think all the money went to, not only from his smuggling, but also his Eastern interests? All to promote the Bonapartists.
‘To be sure he gambled as well but most went to the cause. He firmly believed that the Bourbons would soon overreach themselves and the people would tire quickly of their autocratic ways and overthrow them, leaving the path open for a Regency to be formed for the Emperor Napoleon’s son, the King of Rome.’
It was just as she had surmised, though in her heart she had hoped it wasn’t true, and that somehow Lenore would have denied Gerald having any involvement. But, she knew with the utmost conviction, that the Frenchwoman was speaking the truth.
There seemed to be nothing else left to say. As she stood up, Flush lifted his head and his brown eyes looked pleadingly at her. The memory of another pair of brown eyes that she had loved so much caused her to catch her breath.
Impulsively, Julia turned to Lenore. ‘The dog. Will you take him with you?’
Lenore looked nonplussed. ‘Non, non. I think not.’
‘Then could I have him?’ She asked haltingly, twisting the ring on her finger.
Lenore raised her eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’
‘I do.’ Julia replied firmly. ‘I will send Jimmy over in the morning to collect him.’
‘Very well.’ Lenore turned and held out her hand to Julia and, with a wistful smile said, ‘In France we have an old saying, “Partir c’est mourir un peu” - To part is to die a little.’
Julia was touched by the Frenchwoman’s comment and felt strangely confident that Lenore would overcome her current adversity to triumph yet again. They parted in a friendly fashion. Gerald’s creditors had already swarmed through the house and Lenore was anxious to leave the district.
As she rode home, Julia mused on what the future would hold. A light drizzle was falling as Julia and Jimmy rode past the Norman church.
Impulsively, Julia turned to Jimmy.
‘Do you know where Mr Hamilton’s grave is?’
The boy looked at her wide-eyed. ‘Yes, Miss.’
‘Show me.’
They stopped and dismounted. Jimmy tethered the horses and led Julia around to the back of the church. He stopped at a new grave, the earth still fresh.
‘Leave me for a moment, please.’
The boy looked questioningly at her, but did as she requested. It was a new grave in a family plot. Beside it was a headstone which read Frederick George William Hamilton, and beside him his beloved wife, Julia Cecilia Bridget Hamilton.
For a moment, Julia felt as if her heart had stopped. His mother bore her name. Why had he never told her?
Then she remembered his words the first time he had asked her to address him by his Christian name, and he’d said he would address her by her’s, that Julia was his favourite name. She could feel the misty rain on her cheeks as she stood by the sodden earth.
‘Why, Gerald, why? I loved you with all my heart and soul. Despite your French mistress and all the others in the past, I would have married you. You could have had everything I possessed. I know you must have loved me a little, but why, oh why did you have to be so cruel, so stupid!’
She was weeping now, the tears streaming down her face. She had loved him so, yet it could never have been, that at least she now knew.
There at the grave site, before her mind’s eye, he appeared; on the galloping horse as he threw her a grin the first day she saw him; at the ball in the Assembly Rooms when she fell into his arms; how he flirted as they danced together; the day in Rye at the George; teaching her to ride; when she first felt his lips on hers. She saw again his face suddenly sulky when she thwarted him at the Wentworth dinner; the butterfly kiss; when he had saved her after Athene bolted; and then that last day in this very churchyard, and she shuddered at the remembrance.
Her mind went back down the years to Miss Anderton’s Academy. One of the departing pupil’s father had presented Miss Anderton with a beautiful golden retriever puppy, in thanks for the attention his daughter had received after an illness. The whole school adored it, and the normally stern and formidable headmistress was completely besotted with it. The puppy was petted and loved by the entire school; from the gardener and stable boy, to the cook and maids, as well as all the pupils, where he went from one to the other, revelling in their attention.
As time passed, he would wander away whenever he got the opportunity and would stay happily with whoever fed or made a fuss of him. Time and again he was brought back, and despite all the attention and treats and being confined, he would escape and be gone again. Finally, the day came when he wandered off and never returned.
Miss Anderton and all the girls had been heart broken, but he was never heard of again despite the promise of a reward. Somehow, the beautiful golden retriever seemed to sum Gerald up, for no matter what attention or adulation he received, it was never and would never be enough.
He was now gone forever, nothing could bring him back. Somehow, everyday life had to go on. Yet despite everything, a part of her would always love him; call it weakness or foolishness, but there it was.
She sighed, dried her eyes and walked back to Jimmy and the waiting horses.<
br />
On entering the house, Ridges bustled forward with an envelope that had arrived for her. Slitting it open with a paper knife, Julia read Lieutenant Wareham’s note, asking if he could call on her the following week. A wave of pleasure rushed over her. It would be good to see the lieutenant again, and for the first time Julia realised how she had missed seeing him and how much she valued his friendship.
At five minutes to three on the prescribed day, attired in her oyster taffeta, hair done becomingly under Smithers’ clever hands, Julia sat in the morning room and waited, Flush seated at her side. Right on the stroke of three, Ridges brought the lieutenant in. Seeming to fill the whole room with his presence, he bowed over her hand, and, at her request, pulled up a chair close beside her. He looked steadily into her eyes, asking how she was after her ordeal.
Quietly, Julia explained the events of that night.
‘I am fully recovered now. It was terrible at the time, but now,’ she shuddered as the memories flooded back, ‘I try not to think of it.’
He leant down absentmindedly to pat Flush who had moved between them. Stephen Wareham’s eyes were still fixed on her intently and she couldn’t help but notice how their colour seemed to change with his mood. Normally blue, today they seemed so dark and intense.
‘Very wise. Talbot is under arrest plus a lot of others. As you know, Gerald Hamilton and two others were killed in the skirmish and one of the dragoons was badly injured, but thankfully, you have escaped unharmed. One piece of news that I feel will not upset you is that a body washed ashore at Hasting and was positively identified as Wyatt.’
Julia gave a gasp of surprise and immediately felt guilty for feeling such relief. The image of Wyatt as she had last seen him in the church when he had kicked her so brutally, made her shudder.
The lieutenant suddenly smiled, and from a grim and rather earnest young man, the smile lit up his whole face, making him suddenly most attractive. It was a side Julia had never seen before.
‘It would appear he drowned trying to reach the ship to get away to France or the Channel Islands. His body bore no other marks. Naturally, everyone arrested is putting all the blame on Hamilton and your late great uncle as the ringleaders in the smuggling trade in this district.’
He broke off here and looked at her again, in such a manner that Julia could feel the colour rising in her cheeks.
‘You said in your letter that you had some news that would be of interest to me?’
Once again she was permitted to see the smile that illuminated his face.
‘Indeed I do. Without a doubt, Talbot was the instigator and leader of the smuggling ring. From a good northern family, the Talbots lost most of their fortune and some lost their heads in backing the Stuart cause in fifteen hundred and forty five. The family was impoverished.
‘Talbot entered the church, but harboured a deep-seated grudge against the Hanoverians and their governments for the persecution he believed his family had suffered. The understanding is that Talbot was leaving for Italy and taking his not unsubstantial fortune with him.’
‘But what of his wife?’ Julia was horrified.
‘It is doubtful if she knew anything at all of her husband’s involvement. She is staying with her relations and is in a state of shock and prostrate with grief. It is said he only married her because of her dowry which has all gone now. There were no children, and, according to Mrs Martin, she was always frightened of him. He certainly had no intention of taking her with him when he left, which was what he was about to do.’
His face was sombre as he added, ‘Talbot was the man who was responsible for the murder of John Findlay, my revenue officer last November when there was a big run. Two of the smugglers have sworn under oath that it was him and I am sure we will get a confession. The crypt of the church was where they stored most of their loot, as we discovered after a thorough search.’
Julia shivered. She caught something in Stephen’s expression. ‘There is more?’
‘It concerns your great uncle, Mr Farraday.’
Julia’s heart sank, and it must have been reflected in her face for impulsively, he reached out and took her hand.
‘Your great uncle, Miss Farraday… Oh, that does sound so formal and we have become friends have we not? May I call you Julia?’
Aware of her hand still in his firm clasp, she faintly nodded her assent.
Smiling even more broadly, he continued. ‘And you must call me, Stephen. Will you do that?’
Again the lady agreed.
In a low voice and after a quick glance at the door, he went on.
‘Your great uncle, Mr Farraday, was a friend to the service. He gave us much information about the smuggling activities here. Naturally, discretion was called for. It had to appear that he disliked us, and try to keep up the pretence that this was a safe house for them. That’s why from time to time, they would store some contraband here or make use of the carriage and horses as they are apt to do with anyone hereabouts.’
His face was serious again, but no less attractive for that. The pressure from his hand to her own intensified.
‘He had warned us about Gerald Hamilton and of course we all knew about Wyatt, though your great uncle tried to keep him on a steady path. But I believe that Mr Farraday’s death was no accident and that Wyatt did, in fact, murder him. Your great uncle had found out that it was none other than the Reverend Mr Talbot who was in league with Hamilton. That was why Wyatt silenced him, but unknown to him, the information had already come through.’
Here he stopped to see how she was digesting this piece of news. Julia found herself struggling with conflicting emotions. Gratitude, that her great uncle was not a smuggler but an honest law abiding man, and revulsion, to think that a bully like Wyatt could ruthlessly kill an old man, who, if the story Gerald told her was true, could have been his own father!
‘Don’t worry, we’ll get to the truth.’ He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
‘But Gerald told me that he and my great uncle were in a business venture several years ago, which included smuggling contraband.’
‘Do you believe that now?’
‘I simply don’t know what to believe.’
Stephen leant forward earnestly, his eyes fixed on hers.
‘Julia, Gerald Hamilton lied. Mr Farraday did entice him to think he could be interested in forming a partnership with him, but that was as far as it went. That information was passed on to us. Hamilton knew that with your great uncle dead, there was no way you could possibly find out the truth. Did you find any papers or documents to link Mr Farraday in the ownership of any ship or in any other connection with Gerald Hamilton? Of course not because it never existed, and he knew he was safe as you could never prove it.’
Julia shook her head slowly.
‘You see, it was just his word. There was no way you could prove that what he was telling you was lies, and all he wanted to do was incriminate Mr Farraday and use it for his own ends, to draw you to him.’
He looked directly at her said, ‘There is more regarding Gerald Hamilton.’
Julia knew what was coming.
‘Mr Farraday had some information that Hamilton was a Bonapartist sympathiser.’
Julia hoped she looked suitably shocked.
‘It was a bond he shared with Talbot whose family and background had all been with the Stuarts, and, as I said before, loathed the Hanoverians and their Government. Hamilton was an ardent Bonapartist supporter who had no time for the present regime in France. The information received was that the person who was smuggled ashore here, when Mr Farraday’s carriage was taken, was a certain Colonel Jean-François Dupré, a former friend of Hamilton’s when he was in Madras, and an instigator in a plot to overthrow King Louis XVIII.’
‘Has he been taken by the authorities?’
‘No. He has pleaded for sanctuary and there are many in powerful places prepared to intervene on his behalf. Besides, he has denied all knowledge of a plot, even though we do hav
e our sources. Dupré is under constant surveillance and who knows what yet may eventuate.’
He smiled reassuringly at her.
Reluctantly, Julia could only agree that what he said made perfect sense. A sudden thought struck her and she twisted the amethyst ring.
‘Stephen, will I have to give evidence about that night?’
‘The magistrates will want a written report and that should be sufficient.’
He was very close to her and she could see the faint stubble of his beard and the way in which his brown hair curled slightly at the ends.
Shaking herself from her reverie, she smiled and said, ‘Thank you, Stephen. You don’t know what a load you have lifted from my mind with this news.’
He rose, still holding her hand, and smiling down at her murmured, ‘I am more than pleased to have been of assistance and to be able to reassure you regarding all that has happened here. I trust that I may call again?’
Squeezing her hand tenderly, he paused for a moment before asking. ‘Perhaps I may be permitted to escort you out riding?’
Looking into his eyes she smiled and nodded.
‘Yes, I would like that very much.’
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, never removing his eyes from her own and Julia felt a tremor of pleasure. He did not have the handsome face of Philip or the dashing volatility of Gerald, but there was solid strength there, dependable, enduring. Julia felt suddenly, wildly happy.
‘Until tomorrow then. At three o’clock?’ His eyes were full of promise.
Julia smiled back. ‘Tomorrow will be perfect.’
oOo
A Smuggler’s Song
by Rudyard Kipling
If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet
Don’t go drawing back the blind or looking in the street
Them that asks no questions, isn’t told no lies
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by!
Five and twenty ponies, trotting through the dark
Brandy for the Parson, ’Baccy for the Clerk
Laces for a lady, Letters for a spy
And watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by!
Running round the woodlump, if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy wine
Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ’em for your play
Put the brishwood back again and they’ll be gone next day.
If you see a stable door, setting open wide
If you see a tired horse lying down inside
If your mother mends a cloak, cut about and tore
If the linings wet and warm, don’t you ask no more!
If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red
You be careful what you say and mindful what is said
If they call you ‘pretty maid’ and chuck you ’neath the chin
Don’t you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been.
Knocks and footsteps round the house, whistles after dark
You’ve no call for running out, till the house-dogs bark
Trusty’s here and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie
They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!
If you do as you’ve been told, ’likely there’s a chance,
You’ll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France
With a cap of Vinciennes, and a velvet hood,
A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good.
Five and twenty ponies, trotting through the dark
Brandy for the Parson, Baccy for the Clerk
Laces for a lady, Letters for a spy
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by!
Bibliography
Grant, Neil. (1978). Smugglers. Kestrel Books, Penguin.
Hibbert, Christopher, (1998). George 111. London: Viking.
Kiste der van, John. (2004). George 111’s Children, Glous: Sutton Publishing.
Marples, Morris. (1969). Six Royal Sisters. London: Michael Joseph.
Quinn, Tom (1999). Smugglers Tales, Newton Abbott: David Charles.
Watkins, Susan. (1990). Jane Austen’s Town and Country Style. London: Thames and Hudson.
Waugh, Mary. (1995). Smuggling in Kent and Sussex, 1700 to 1840. Newbury, Berkshire: Countryside Books.
The lines of poetry at the commencement of each chapter are extracts from A Smuggler’s Song by Rudyard Kipling.
From inquiries made by the writer and to the best of his knowledge and the publisher’s knowledge, any copyright or other rights applying to the poem, A Smuggler’s Song, by Rudyard Kipling, expired in January, 2007.
If you enjoyed this book, try the next in the series – Shadows of Doubt, which continues Julia’s adventures. Available as an ebook or in print. www.letsbuybooks.co.nz
You might also enjoy The Spanish Woman by Evan Andrew – a lively tale of a Spanish woman taken by Turkish pirates who makes a new life for herself among her captors.
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