Chapter 6
Harbouring Secrets.
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 a smile.
“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, 17th January 1816.
Aubrey slipped into the pub, trying to keep a low profile.
His heart skipped as he saw Alfie deep in conversation with an older man on the far side of the room.
He certainly looked respectable, as did the establishment they had chosen for their rendezvous.
The realisation that he had completely misjudged Alfie sat uncomfortably in his stomach, but he was here now.
Tugging his hat low, he kept his head down and darted to the table beside Alfie’s, which was sectioned off for privacy with a high-backed settle.
Letting out a breath of relief, Aubrey sat back, trying to listen in on their conversation.
He was spying, which was a rotten thing to do, but he might as well put his suspicions to bed once and for all.
Thankfully, they had chosen a quiet spot for the rendezvous.
If it had been an inn populated by sailors, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb and had no chance of overhearing them.
“—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.”
King? Wasn’t that the fellow who’d married the woman who owned The Mermaid? Though the townsfolk seemed to have taken him to their hearts, the fellow was supposed to have been a complete rogue. A criminal, in fact. Did that respectable old man work for him?
Alfie said something in reply that Aubrey couldn’t catch, and he shifted on the bench, trying to get in a better position. A smiling barmaid came up, and Aubrey hurriedly ordered a pint, not wanting to miss anything.
“When it comes to Silas Mourney, one cannot be too careful.”
“What the hell does he want now?” Alfie exclaimed. “Isn’t it enough that I daren’t set foot in town?”
“I’m afraid you’ve offended that man, Alfie. He had his heart set on those jewels, and now he’s found out who's got them.”
“Well, that’s none of my affair. I made a deal, what happens to them next is nothing to do with me.”
“No, except Silas means to steal them.”
“What?”
Aubrey, still reeling from the mention of baubles, was not so shocked he didn’t catch the note of fear in Alfie’s voice.
The barmaid reappeared and set down his pint, and he paid her in a daze, hardly able to believe his suspicions had been well founded.
He took a large swallow, hardly tasting the bitter brew as he waited for what else might be revealed about his less than innocent new friend.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I can’t be held accountable if he gets burgled, especially not when I’m miles away. Besides, it’s likely those stupid thugs that work for Silas will mess it up like they do most things. Perhaps they’ll get him hanged this time.”
Aubrey felt there was more hope and bravado behind these words than the lad might like to admit, but as he currently wanted to choke the little wretch until he turned purple, he wasn’t feeling a great deal of sympathy.
Alfie Marwick was a jewel thief. No wonder he had made his sister hand over the brooch without a murmur, he’d not wanted to draw attention to himself, the thieving little bastard.
“Maybe, but this is the thing, Alfie. Silas means to implicate you, though don’t ask me how.
All I know is King has a snitch close to the man.
This fellow knew you’re under King’s protection after the favour you did him and was good enough to warn me.
Silas Mourney is going to steal those diamonds, and he’s going to make it look like you did it. ”
“A pox upon Silas Mourney!” Alfie said savagely.
“I’m sorry, lad. I know this isn’t welcome news, but forewarned is forearmed.”
“It’s my own stupid fault. If you knew how deeply I regret having anything to do with those blasted jewels… well, never mind that. I owe you a debt, Mr Repton, and King too. Again,” he said with a sigh.
“No, no. King knows naught about this. It’s between you and me, and you owe me nothing. Perhaps you might follow that man’s example, though, eh? You’ve made it this far. Start fresh and find an honest living. You never know, you might like it.”
Aubrey did not catch Alfie’s reply, muffled as it was by the sounds of chairs scraping upon the polished floorboards as Repton got to his feet and they said goodbye.
Alfie did not follow at first, and whilst the urge to confront him was burning in Aubrey’s blood like acid, he bided his time. It would not do to make a scene in such a respectable tavern. Outside, however, you could get your throat cut without anyone batting an eyelid.
So he waited, fists clenched, as he imagined breaking Alfred Marwick’s nose with a good deal of anticipation.
The King’s Arms, Dover, Kent, 17th January 1816
Alfie slipped from the tavern with his guts in a tangle.
This was bad. Very, very bad. His instincts leapt as he hurried through the busy streets with the back of his neck prickling.
Someone was following him. Whether or not it was Silas Mourney hardly seemed to matter.
Alfie did not like being followed and wasn’t about to make it easy for the devil, whoever he was.
He did not look round, too used to living by his wits to doubt his own instincts, instead, he ducked into a side street, ran like blazes and took the first alley he could find.
One of the first rules of living on the streets was to make sure you were faster than anyone chasing you and Alfie was nimble by anyone’s standards.
By the time he returned to the main street, he felt certain he’d lost whoever was following him.
He’d have to abandon the pony and cart, though.
He’d arrange for someone else to take it back to Little Valentine, but for now, he’d spend the night in a local tavern and hope in the morning that whoever had been tailing him had given up and gone home.
Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, 18th January 1816
“Whatever is the matter with you? You look like you’ve swallowed a frog,” Vinnie remarked when Aubrey came down to breakfast the next morning.