“Good day,” Aubrey said, handing her his card. “Is Miss Marwick at home?”
The young woman, who Aubrey guessed to be Lill, frowned at his card. “No.”
This abrupt response rather astonished Aubrey, who knew very well that she was.
“Ought you not check with your mistress?” he suggested gently.
“Well, and how am I supposed to do that when she ain’t at home?” she replied tartly, and shut the door in his face.
Aubrey stared at the shiny green paint on the front door with a jolt of shock. No one had ever shut the door in his face before. He had half a mind to knock again and demand the pert creature tell Miss Marwick who wished to see her. But then it occurred to him, perhaps she was at home and had instructed her maid to deny him.
But why?
Increasingly troubled, Aubrey walked away from the cottage and back into the town. Perhaps Alfie could shed some light upon the situation. Surely, he had not offended Miss Marwick. No, he knew he had not.
The strange sense of something being off with Mr and Miss Marwick nagged at him. If he had not offended her, why would she deny him? Either she wished to avoid him for reasons that only increased his curiosity about the siblings, or the housekeeper had been correct, and she wasn’t there.
Something nagged at the edge of his mind, but he could not grasp it.
Picking up his pace, he determined to have a few frank words with Alfie and see if he could get some sense out ofthe slippery young fellow. At worst, the lad would tell Aubrey to bugger off and mind his own business, which he’d be quite entitled to do.
Aubrey made his way up the main high street, peering in shop windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of his quarry, when a little pony and cart appeared out of a side street ahead of him. Alfie Marwick was driving it.
“Blast,” Aubrey remarked, frustrated that his plan had been thwarted so quickly.
No, dammit, this time hewouldplay spy. He could no longer deny his suspicion that there was something shady about Alfie Marwick, and his sister giving up a priceless diamond brooch without a murmur of reproach was just too implausible. If he hurried back to the Hall and saddled his horse, he’d be able to catch Alfie on the way out of town with no problem, for Ramses was a deal faster and more powerful than the workaday pony that Alfie was driving.
Though guilt nagged at him for being so very sceptical of a young man who had been nothing but friendly towards him, Aubrey knew he’d go mad if he didn’t reassure himself the fellow was on the level. If today’s little jaunt proved to be a waste of time, he’d put his suspicions to bed and give himself a sound talking to. For now, he must catch his quarry.
Chapter 6
Harbouring Secrets.
Dover, Kent, 17thJanuary 1816
Alfie had been to the docks at Dover many times, but the bustle and energy of the place never ceased to surprise him. There were people everywhere, of every nationality, sailors and dockworkers, merchants and customs officials, travellers to and from the continent. On the water, life was just as turbulent, the harbour teemed with vessels: sleek cutters, packet boats and merchant ships, small fishing boats gliding nimbly around their larger cousins. Ranks of masts cut the horizon into narrow slices, billowing sails unfurling with whip cracking snaps as the wind took them, and the shouts of men as they hefted crates and strained against ropes that hoisted cargo aloft.
The menacing presence of Dover Castle stood stark on the cliffs above, and though the war was over, there was still evidence of a military presence, red coats catching the eye often enough to become commonplace. Happily, there were far more suspicious-looking characters lurking about than Alfie, and no one gave him a second glance.
Making his way to the tavern Repton had named in his letter, Alfie guided the tired little pony around barrels and crates, carts loaded with sacks, and cloth covered bales. The air was thick with scents: exotic spices, salt and fish, both fresh and reeking, the pungent smell of tar lacing through everything.Many of the taverns here were rowdy, filled with sailors on leave, but unsurprisingly, King’s butler had chosen an inn that catered for the more refined traveller.
The King’s Arms was set apart from the livelier establishments, freshly whitewashed, its windows gleamed, and polished brass lanterns flanked the front door. Once he’d seen to the pony’s care, Alfie hurried inside, finding a comfortable parlour with a cheerful fire burning in the hearth. It was quiet in here after the chaos and bustle of the docks, and gentlemen sat at the tables, some reading newspapers, others engaged in conversation over a pint.
Looking around, Alfie spied Repton sitting under a gilt framed painting of a nautical battle, watching the world go by through the leaded light window beside him. As Alfie watched, he took out a silver pocket watch, checked it, and tucked it away again. He was a meticulous man, once an actor of some repute, he had taken to drink and thrown his career away, about to end his days in the gutter, until King had hauled him out and given him back his self-respect with a job as butler. Alfie thought the man would likely have walked over hot coals for King and was loyal to his bones. He never touched a drop these days and Alfie noted the glass of lemonade before him.
“Mr Repton, sir?” Alfie said politely, knowing what a stickler the fellow was for good manners.
“Alfie, you made it. I am glad,” he said, looking relieved. “Sit down, lad. I’ll order you a drink. I’m told they serve a very tolerable ale here.”
Alfie thanked the fellow and sat, wondering what had been so dire that he must come to Dover in person instead.
“No doubt you are wondering why I didn’t just put my concerns in the letter I sent you,” Repton remarked with asmile. “But Mr King has always been most careful about what gets committed to paper, and so I thought it might be best to err on the side of caution. I hope you’ll understand once I have explained.”
“I’m sure your reasons were good ones,” Alfie replied, all on edge now.
Repton lifted his glass and took a sip, nodding ruefully. He replaced the glass and reached for his watch again, turning it in his hands anxiously, opening and closing it, before looking up at Alfie, something uncomfortably like pity shining in his eyes. “When it comes to Silas Mourney, one cannot be too careful.”
The King’s Arms, Dover, Kent, 17thJanuary 1816.
