Devil to Pay (16 page)

If customs duties went as far back as that, they were not going to be abolished now! Mr Pitt, like another Trajan, had reduced them at one time but since had come war and the need to supply the strength of the republic. The duties must be collected, their evasion must be discouraged and it would fall to some men to do this unending and sad but necessary work. Delancey sighed for at the moment he was one of them and this was the duty he had to do.

T
HERE CAN BE no doubt that many of the Poole merchants were strictly honest but the topography of the harbour did nothing to make honesty inevitable. The proper and normal approach to Poole is by the Swash Channel, which lies between North Haven Point and Brownsea Island and curves westward between mudflats bringing the homeward bound ship to the quayside at Poole, which is still dominated, very properly, by the Custom House. Nothing could be more respectable than the old town of Poole, built in a warm red brick and centred upon the Market House which had been built in 1760 by the grateful Mr Joseph Gulston, elected then for the fourth time as Member of Parliament for the Town and County. From much the same period date the handsome town houses from which the shipowners went forth each day to business. Theirs was a profitable business, the cod they brought from Newfoundland being sold in Spain or Portugal, the return cargo comprising (among other things) wine. Many of the cargoes landed were dutiable and the collector's business was to see that the duties were paid. This was Poole as seen from the Custom House windows. But Poole Harbour could be looked at from another point of view. It was and is a complex of channels and creeks, accessible to small craft manned by men with local knowledge. A vessel which happened to enter the harbour at night could turn aside from the main channel and enter the South Deep on the flood, unloading illegally at Goathorn Point or Green Island. Another, more daring, might enter the Wych Channel and land her cargo on the north shore of Brownsea Island. Good use could also be made of Studland Bay or Swanage, Lulworth Cove or Ringstead. Brownsea Island actually stands between Studland Bay and Poole, rising high enough to screen the activities which might surround a vessel in the South Deep. The professional smuggler, as opposed to the merchant skipper who occasionally yielded to temptation, found Poole Harbour almost ideal for his purpose, especially if he had set up a signal station on Nine Barrow Down. It would be wrong to say that the merchants of Poole were all engaged in smuggling but most of them knew what was going on. To have prevented it altogether, with the men available, was hardly feasible and would have been highly unpopular. The collector's policy had been to let well alone, making an occasional seizure but preferring to be ignorant of practices which were known to everyone else.

It was a fine day at the end of February when the
Rose
entered the Swash on the flood. There was an easterly breeze with a lively sea and the Needles were clearly visible in the sunlight. Delancey took his cutter up the main channel and finally laid her alongside the quay at Poole. He went ashore and reported his arrival at the Custom House. The collector was not there, being said to be unwell, but the comptroller received him politely and congratulated him on the
Rose
's recent success. Mr Elisha Withers, a red-faced convivial man, evidently addicted to the bottle, was assisted by Mr George Miller, a more sober and abstemious character, who was present throughout the interview. Miller was small and thin with a sharp nose and a continual sniff, saying little but noticing everything down to and including Delancey's cheap shoe buckles. On him, as the deputy comptroller, the work of the office had mostly fallen, Mr Withers being ineffective and the collector, Mr Rogers, being seldom there. Delancey came straight to the point by asking whether Samuel Carter was known to the Customs officers.

“Carter?” said Withers. “Carter? Yes, to be sure. He trades between here and the Channel Islands. His lugger, the
Dove,
is registered here at Poole and he lives, when ashore, at the old George Inn or rather in a building behind it which belongs to John Scaplen. Do you want to see him?”

“No, sir. I believe, however, that he is a smuggler.”

“Samuel Carter? Surely not! No case has ever been brought against him.”

“Would you say, then, that this port is free from illicit traffic?”

“Not entirely free,” replied Withers reluctantly. “But the trade is on a very small scale as compared with that which persists, say, in Sussex. Did you hear that a hundred and fifty smugglers were caught the other day by the Newhaven riding officers and the crew of the Seaford boat?
A hundred and fifty!
We have nothing like that round Poole. A few kegs are landed sometimes by fishermen but they soon give themselves away. Our merchants are all known to us personally and have a good reputation in the County. Men in a sufficiently big way of business will scorn to save money through petty evasions of the law. Many of them, moreover, have held office as sheriff or mayor.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Delancey, “but I have reason to believe that the
Dove
is being laden with contraband at this moment and that the run will take place in a few days' time.”

“Where?” asked Miller, speaking for the first time.

“At Lulworth Cove, I have been told.”

“You may have been misled,” said Withers. “The real culprit (if there is one) may be another man, landing his cargo at some other place.”

“That I accept. Should you have any better intelligence I shall be glad to act upon it.”

“No, we have heard nothing,” replied Withers. “And Carter's name has never been mentioned to us in this connection.”

“In that event, sir, the
Rose
will appear off Lulworth Cove at the proper time. I have to request that a troop of cavalry should act in concert with me and I have further to request that you put out the story that I expect a run to be made in Studland Bay.”

“A clever idea, Mr Delancey, but I think I can improve upon it. A ball is to take place tomorrow night at the Market House. I shall be glad to take you there as my guest. Among other gentlemen present there will be Captain Molyneux of the 4th Dragoons. You can talk with him there without anything being noticed. You can take the same opportunity to spread what story you like about your immediate plans. Your name is known and many will be eager to make your acquaintance.”

Delancey accepted this invitation with inward dismay. He might, in other circumstances, have enjoyed the ball but he wondered whether he might not find himself unpopular. There could, he knew, be no better way of concerting measures with the cavalry—nor could there be a better company in which to plant a rumour. He would need his wits about him, though, and would be glad when the affair was over.

In the meanwhile he walked round Poole and made himself familiar with the place. His thoughts as he did so were tinged with anxiety. He had walked into the lion's den, planning the lion's discomfiture. Could he assume, however, that the lion would tamely await his first move? Was it not probable that Mr John Early, having heard of his activity, would move against him straight away? He put himself in Early's place and considered the courses that would be open to him. He could direct someone to force a quarrel on him and so prepare the way for a duel. He could provide Delancey with false intelligence. He could damage the
Rose
in a collision. He might pester Delancey with a lawsuit or bribe his seamen to mutiny. He could counter-attack in a dozen different ways but it was Delancey's guess that he would not be too drastic at first. It would not be his aim to declare a war to the death. All he wanted, surely, was for Delancey to accept the official theory that smuggling in Dorset was practically unknown.

It was while pondering the situation that Delancey nearly had a collision, not in the tideway but in the middle of the High Street. The young lady into whom he had nearly blundered uttered a little cry of dismay and dropped her parasol and gloves. With her other hand she clutched the arm of another and older woman, looking as alarmed as if Delancey had assaulted them both. He hastened to apologize and restore the parasol and gloves, seeking at the same time to find some excuse for his absence of mind. The young lady was quite attractive, a brunette in her early twenties, and he supposed the older woman to be a housekeeper. He blamed himself for his clumsiness and hoped that the young lady was unhurt. She forgave him prettily and admitted that she was as much to blame as he.

“I suspect, sir, that you are the naval officer in temporary command of the
Rose.”
Delancey introduced himself and learnt that the young lady was Miss Louisa Hill. She was a little more forward than Delancey expected, perhaps out of curiosity, and she quickly explained that she had come from Dorchester to attend tomorrow's ball. Would Mr Delancey be there? He replied untruthfully that he was looking forward to it and added some hint of his wish to see her again. She said that she would keep a dance free for him but warned him not to be jealous of her other beaux. She had a weakness, she admitted, for handsome men in naval or military uniform. She allowed Delancey to escort her to her aunt's house, No 30 in the High Street, easily recognizable by the door and the fanlight, both of a pattern which characterized the taste of the previous reign.

After this encounter Delancey went on board the
Rose
and explained the situation to Lane and Torrin. The
Dove
would attempt a run at Studland Bay but the story to circulate was that the run would take place in Lulworth Cove. Each officer would repeat this cover story, in strict confidence, to one other person ashore. Going on deck after a brief conference, Delancey spoke again about Lulworth Cove, this time in the hearing of Mike Williams, but Lane reminded him of the need for secrecy. He swore softly and moved out of earshot. If all went well, the signal party would thus hear the same story from the Custom House and from Williams, with other rumours perhaps to the same effect. The
Dove
would be warned in time and would head towards Poole, there to fall into the jaws of the
Rose.
Delancey was convinced by now that the smugglers had an accomplice at the Custom House, but who was it? Withers did not look the type and Rogers was evidently ailing and old. Withers he had at first suspected because of the letter which had been intercepted but Delancey now inclined to believe that it must have been relatively innocent, mere gossip addressed to a local squire whose respectable character was assumed. For present purposes it could be taken for granted that anything known to the Customs officers was soon passed on to the smugglers. When Sam Carter appeared off Durlston Head he would be advised by signal that the
Rose
was off Lulworth Cove and that Studland Bay was wide open. Thus would the trap be set.

Poring over the chart and tide-table, Delancey had now to decide on the precise date and hour. Carter was at Alderney or Guernsey. How long would it take him to ship his cargo? There were unknown factors here for the speed of loading would depend on the quayside labour available and that again on the number of other craft that might be there. But Carter's run would also require a high tide and a dark night. Weighing the different circumstances, Delancey decided that the likeliest date would be March the fourth and the probable hour would be between 1:00 and 3:00 A.M., allowing the
Dove
to be over the horizon again by daybreak. The ball was to be tomorrow, March the first, which would allow time for the cavalry to march; supposing, of course, that Molyneux was ready to cooperate. Delancey had a vague idea that horses were apt to go lame or have glanders and that cavalrymen hated to move at night.

He wondered again whether his guess was correct. Would not Sam Carter have made the same calculation, choosing the fourth as the best date—and then decided against it as the night when his run would be expected? Although this was a distinct possibility it would not pay to be too clever. Senior officers had warned him against it and he had come to see that cleverness must often frustrate itself. No, his plan was made, and he would adhere to it. The fourth should be the night and Studland Bay would be the place. If no smugglers appeared the same arrangements would be repeated on the fifth and sixth, the
Rose
to be out of sight in daylight. If and when the whole plan failed, Delancey would have to think of something else.

On the night of the ball Delancey dressed carefully and went ashore, calling as arranged at Mr Withers' house in Market Street. He was introduced to Mrs Withers, as also to Mrs Rogers, whose husband was still indisposed. He guessed that Mr Rogers had remarried late in life for the lady must have been his junior by many years. His hostess was nondescript and rather dull but Mrs Rogers was more lively and addicted, she said, to the whist table. Delancey was asked whether he knew many people of the neighbourhood and had to confess that he knew nobody. He then corrected himself and mentioned the name of Louisa Hill. “Ah—Mr John Early's niece!” said Mrs Rogers, “I heard she was in town but have not seen her yet. She is here for the ball, no doubt, and will be staying with her aunt, Mrs Waterford.”

“You have wasted no time about it, Mr Delancey!” said Withers. “Miss Hill is much admired by the young men of this town. She is not Mr Early's niece, however, but a cousin, I understand, and rather a poor relation.”

“She has no fortune,” Mrs Rogers admitted. “And Mr Early has three sons and a daughter to provide for. But Louisa is a pretty and lively girl and quite a favourite with her aunt.”

“Will Mr Early be at the ball himself?” asked Delancey but nobody seemed to know. He was a busy man, it seemed, and an active magistrate, and had small leisure for merely social occasions. He would be there, no doubt, if he could spare the time but he was the sort of man who would arrive late and leave soon. He owed his wealth to his enterprise rather than to his inheritance, and it was his business connections which brought him quite often to Poole.