The Reverend blanched. ‘I simply came to take Freddy to do his business,’ he defended. ‘And I only stuck my head through the door. Judging by your snoring, you wouldn’t have noticed if the King of England had walked in.'
‘So did he?’ she continued pulling open the curtains.
‘Did he what?’
‘Did Freddy do his business?’ she answered, struggling to contain her exasperation.
The Reverend looked down at the foxhound with a frown. Freddy wagged his tail hopefully. ‘I’ve no deuced idea,’ he answered at length, ‘and anyway, it doesn’t matter. The gaol was empty.’
‘Why on earth did you take Freddy to the gaol to do his business?’ Charity demanded.
‘What? I didn’t ta… Oh for …balderdash. Are you listening, Charity?The gaol was empty.’
Charity blinked at her father’s use of an unfamiliar epithet, then his words finally sank in.
Mary was gone.
‘Do you think she escaped or was taken?’
The Reverend shook his head. ‘There was no sign of any force, and the rushes on the floor didn’t look as if anyone had been dragged over them. I think she must have walked out. Whether she did so willingly, there’s no way to tell...’ He paused, then added, ‘Except there was no guard.’
‘Botheration,’ exclaimed Charity. ‘So Mary could simply have been freed, or the guard could have been in league with the smugglers and allowed them to take her. Where’s Percy?’
‘He’s on his way to the Customs office.’
Charity grimaced. ‘I think you should go after him, Father, while I get dressed. It will do no good to antagonise the Customs officer, and while Percy is undeniably eloquent in the pulpit, I’m uncertain he has the necessary diplomacy when dealing with the authorities. The last thing we need is Percy replacing his mother in her cell.’ She paused, then added, ‘Leave Freddy with me.’
To his own surprise, Reverend Shackleford simply nodded without taking umbrage at his daughter’s high-handedness. Charity might well be outspoken, not to mention downright annoying most of the time, but things could have been infinitely worse. He could have been landed with Chastity.
‘I will meet you and Percy at the Fisherman’s Rest as we planned,’ she called after him. ‘We’ll seek Mr Cardell’s advice when we have more information.’
Reverend Shackleford confined his answer to a wave before shutting the door. He didn’t think now was the time to tell her his distrust of Jago Cardell was the reason he’d been at the gaol in the first place
∞∞∞
It took the Reverend a mere ten minutes to catch up with Percy. Mainly because his curate didn’t know where the Customs office was located and had spent the last half an hour marching up and down the harbour. With his cassock flapping behind him, he resembled a large black crow.
‘Tare an’ hounds, Percy,’ the Reverend admonished when he finally caught up with him. ‘What the deuce is wrong with you, lad? You’ve got a tongue in your head, haven’t you?’
‘This whole smoky business has me at sixes and sevens,’ Percy blurted. ‘I can’t seem to think straight, Sir.
Strangely, Reverend Shackleford’s irritation was overtaken by an unaccustomed sympathy towards his hapless curate, so he refrained from remarking that thinking straight had never been one of Percy’s strengths. Instead, he patted the smaller man’s arm and went to ask for directions.
It turned out the Customs House was located on Bayard’s Cove, a mere stone’s throw from where they were standing. ‘Right then, Percy, make sure to let me do the talking,’ ordered the Reverend as he led the way. Percy nodded his head vigorously, for once in complete accord with his superior.
Situated only yards away from where the Mayflower had set sail nearly two hundred years earlier, the office of His Majesty’s Customs and Excise was a handsome building of two stories set on the cobbled quayside of Bayard’s Cove at the southern end of the harbour. The wharf was protected at the very end by a smallartillery fort, which looked to be no longer in use. The boats docked here were considerably smaller than the two merchant vessels they’d seen earlier and comprised mostly fishing boats.
It would have been a picturesque spot if not for the stench of fish and the cacophony of voices belonging to the numerous fishermen mending nets. Clearly, their catch had already been offloaded and moved.
The door to the Customs House sat open, and outside, two men were arguing heatedly. Without pause Reverend Shackleford stepped towards them, intending to enquire whether the Customs officer might be found within. Before he’d taken a step however, Percy gripped the clergyman’s arm urgently. ‘It’s him,’ he muttered nodding his head towards the two men still in a heated discussion. ‘Joseph Smith. Theprison guard,’ he added when the Reverend looked at him blankly.
‘Which one is he? I haven’t got my eyeglasses with me.’ The Reverend squinted towards the two men as Percy whispered, ‘The one on the left.’
‘Are you certain?’ Augustus Shackleford frowned as the guard suddenly threw his hands in the air and stomped away, heading back towards the centre of the town. ‘Quick,’ the Reverend hissed, grabbing hold of Percy’s arm in turn and dragging the curate in pursuit.
‘What are we doing?’ Percy questioned as he hurried to keep up with his superior. ‘I thought we were going to speak to the Customs officer.’
‘This Joseph Smith might well be involved in your mother’s kidnapping,’ Reverend Shackleford retorted without slowing his pace. ‘He could have her stashed somewhere.’
