Thomas lifted his cup sloppily, as if he’d had too many before that one, and dove into the conversation with gusto. “Aye, I was sayin’ to my friend here”—he gestured to Michael—“that I was visiting my sister. She lives outside of Cambridge by a small creek that feeds into the River Cam.”
A barmaid set down a pint in front of Collin, and he lifted it to his lips, listening to Tom’s story.
“And she was complaining something fierce. She usually does, but this time she had a reason. She gets her water for washing and such from the creek, and the other day, when she went to collect water, it was all tea brown-yellow. Stained everything, she said. Well, I had to go and check it out myself. She’s a widow, so I try to help her manage things where I can, and so I went to the creek. Nothing seemed odd, but I followed it up a ways and found a crate.”
Collin’s attention snapped into focus when the man said a crate. “Go on.”
“It was tea.”
“Smuggled tea,” Collin guessed.
“I’m thinking so. Someone was trying to hide the evidence and dumped it in the creek, thinking thewater would do its job. It did, to a certain extent, but the smuggler wasn’t a smart one. Everyone knows you need to dump the tea.” He glanced skyward.
“Interesting,” Collin stated. “I have a friend who works for the War Office. Do you think your sister would mind if we went and had a look?”
He shrugged. “Likely not, but it’s no use. I picked it up and burned the crate. No need for that to make her clothes all tea-stained.”
“I see.” Michael eyed Collin. “Was there anything remarkable about the crate? Or the tea?”
The man seemed to think. “Just a wooden crate, like a million others.”
Michael finished off his pint and nodded to the man. “Thank you.”
Collin followed suit, polishing off his pint as well, and then followed Michael out the door of the pub.
“Well, that certainly goes hand in hand with my findings,” Collin stated as they walked down the street.
When Michael turned curious eyes to him, Collin told him about his evening.
“So, it would seem that somehow your name is mixed up with tea smugglers.”
“It would seem so. Which boils down to evading taxes due to the Crown, a wonderful offense,” Collin said with sarcasm. “Tomorrow let’s travel down to where I saw the wagon unloaded, see if wecan uncover any information. If I’m lucky, maybe our old friend with the black eye will still be there.”
Michael chuckled. “So, tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.” And with a nod, Collin headed home.
Now, if he could only figure out how best to return Elizabeth’s satchel, without anyone the wiser.
Thirteen
At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.
—Plato,The Symposium
Elizabeth awoke the next morning with a mild headache. As she reached behind her head and tenderly touched the bump, she understood why her head throbbed. It wasn’t a large bump, but it certainly was tender. It would be a good day to stay at home, and she would be wise to take a day to recover. Her body itched as if already revolting against the concept of inactivity. The breakfast table was set, and her father was reading the two-day oldLondon Timesas he drank his tea.
“Good morning.” He lowered the newspaper and welcomed her with a smile.
Elizabeth returned the welcome. “Good morning, Papa.” She sat across from him and poured herself some tea.
“It’s times like this I’m thankful we don’t live in a larger city.” Her father folded the newspaper and lifted a section, showing a bold-print headline regarding a crime.
“It is a little calmer here in Cambridge,” Elizabeth agreed, but her mind flickered back to last night. She thought over her studies and how they had pertained to human nature. Plato had believed that evil was a result of ignorance. She didn’t agree with that statement. Ignorance could certainly be part of the whole, but there was also a willful choice, as in the case of Lord Penderdale. The knave impersonating him chose to blame another by using a false name, so that wasn’t ignorance.
“You’re deep in thought this morning,” her father commented, setting his teacup down.
“Woolgathering,” she answered. “I think today I’ll visit the bees. It’s been over a week, and I’d like to inspect the colony. Then I’ll take a ride.”
