The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [273]
Thanks to Isaac Seagull the lander, the distribution network was excellent. No cargo he had run had ever been intercepted.
Why then, as he gazed out over the marshes should he betray by a twitch in his mouth that he was worried?
The venturer had some big plans for the coming year – very big. Nothing must go wrong. His job, as lander, was to make sure that nothing did.
So what could go wrong? Some time next year, if the reports were correct, there would be detachments of dragoons arriving at the new barracks at Christchurch. What would that mean? It was too early to know how many were coming, but it would be wise to get the biggest shipments through before they arrived.
Then there were events in France to consider. So far, the Revolution, the execution of the king, the reign of the Terror had all come to Paris. War had even been declared. But that had not stopped the big wine merchants of France concluding ambitious deals with the venturer. That was the venturer’s problem, of course, not his. It exercised his agile mind, though, all the same.
Assuming the shipments could all be made before the new dragoons arrived, what else was there to consider?
Grockleton. Some Customs officers could be paid off, but they let you know soon enough if that was their game, and Grockleton hadn’t. Isaac’s feelings were mixed. Letting yourself be paid off was probably the most rational course, he supposed, but he quite respected a man who was prepared to fight. If he had a chance, that is. But could Grockleton really believe he had a chance?
Seagull could think of only one instance of the Lymington Customs men scoring a success and that had been five years ago, just before Grockleton came. A breakaway group of Free Traders had started operating out of a cave known as Ambrose Hole, in the river valley just north of Lymington. He’d known who they were, of course, and stopped using them for the smuggling run because they wouldn’t obey orders. They’d taken to robbing people on the turnpike roads; then they’d killed several people. Everyone had had enough by then. The Free Traders were armed, but they scarcely ever used violence unless a convoy was attacked. Killing wasn’t their style. The magistrate, the mayor, even he himself had all agreed it had to stop. So Seagull had told the Customs officer where they were, troops called in, the gang raided. They’d found a lot of stolen goods in the cave. And thirty bodies too; buried in a shaft. He had been shocked by that.
The Customs officers and the troops had claimed that as a success. Seagull hadn’t minded; it did no harm.
But Grockleton was still there. He had a determined look about him. He might be watched every hour, but he clearly could not be discounted. Isaac Seagull never discounted danger: that was why he was good at his job.
And now, as he considered the problem of Grockleton and what to do about him, another thought came into his mind.
What if Grockleton had a spy? A good one. Someone in the Free Traders. That was a further possibility. It might seem unlikely, but it had to be considered. An informer would be killed if caught of course. That was something the Free Traders would do. But still …
Isaac Seagull’s mouth twitched. He was thinking.
Nathaniel Furzey liked living with the Prides in Oakley. They were a pleasant, lively family. He and Andrew Pride were fast friends. Andrew’s father, besides keeping a small herd of cows, had a timber business, buying timber at a good price from the woodward and selling it on. Piles of his timber were stacked by the edge of Oakley green.
The first few weeks he had lived there he had been on his best behaviour. But before long, his natural high spirits had come out, and he had