The embrace ended, but Sir A and Sam did not move far apart. Hands touching, they moved into the front part of the room where, suddenly, the old man detached himself, sitting heavily in an upright chair.
"Sam," he said. "Mr. Bentley. You have heard somehow? How glad I am you've come."
Sam spread his hands.
"Sir, we have not heard. I guess, though, it is Charles. Has he ... ? Is ... ?"
"Pray sit! Pray sit!" said Sir A, distractedly. "Nay, my Charles, our Charles ... well, he is as yet unfound, so we may still have hope. But the other Charles, good Charlie Warren. Oh God, Sam. The evil that men do."
They waited, for Sir Arthur had covered his face, may even have been weeping. They avoided each other's faces, but Will noticed Sam run a finger round inside his collar, clearing sweat. He found himself gazing longingly through the glass at the garden grass, scythed short at summer's end.
"They found him stuffed into a hayrick," said Sir Arthur, not distinctly. "Cut, mutilated, picked over by dogs. Not the work of men, of Christians, but of beasts. And in the name of what they call the free trade, may they rot in hell for that damned lie; they'd fired the rick to try and burn him. And where, and how, and when did my Charles die?"
Sam, eventually, cleared his throat.
"He may not ... until they find his body, sir. There is always hope. There must be."
Sir A raised his head. For a moment he seemed blind and deaf.
"Aye," he said at last. "There must be hope, or what else is there? But you two. Sam, if you had not heard of this, what do you here, and so early in the day? You have been riding, you have been living roughly. Surely you do not seek men out down here for pressing? For that other wicked trade?" He stopped. He touched his brow, eyes dropped. "Nay, forgive me, all trade is wicked to a degree, I do not mean to be gratuitous. What has happened?"
Deb rose in William's throat, but he crushed her back. Deb was his sorrow, and her own. Sam stood up and, with tacit permission, attended to the windows. From the grass outside a cooling, welcome breeze blew in.
"We got left ashore," he said. He almost made a jest of it. "Marooned by the King's most gallant commander on the seven seas. We went to take some of those very men, those smugglers, but they had allies on shore of the most useful kind. A justice of the peace, and what we took to be the yeomanry. We were jailed, set free by our boatswain's mate, bought horses, and we ran. William here was most displaced by it, head over heels for the Hampshire men, he says, are almost honest!"
He must not have realised what he'd said, for Yorke and Warren had been in Hampshire, and disappeared there. Will dared not speak, but Sir A, eventually, broke the silence.
"Charles Warren was killed not far from Petersfield," he said. "Do you not hail from Petersfield, young man?"
Will nodded.
"Not far from there, sir. Two miles."
"And you know smuggling men? How would that be? You do not deal with them, surely?"
Sam, having got him in the mess, tried to pull him out. He explained about the Welfare and her mixed people. Smugglers had aided Will, in the troubles, a smuggler had saved his life. Will added that he knew their villages, their haunts, he sailed his own boat in their waters, often. He did not think them honest, but he had assumed they might be honourable men. He had not heard they had a brutal reputation. But now, of course ...
Sir Arthur Fisher sighed. The room was quiet for some little while, save for a hissing log and the breeze outside. Clouds were blowing across a fine blue sky, and Will thought of Deb, and desolation.
"So why here in Surrey, Samuel?" asked Sir A. "When you say you've run, you mean from your captivity, not your ship, I trust. Kaye is a foolish man, and venal I have heard, but he is not that bad, I will not allow it. Is he still out in the estuary, or the Downs, or what goes on? If he is back in London, should you not have gone back to the ship?"
Sam glanced at Will, read hopelessness, and bit the bullet. He knew it would sound tawdry, but he would do it for his friend, who could not.
"Sir," he said. "It is that young maid we brought here. Deborah."
"Hah!" said Sir A. "Young men and their humours, like flies around a honey pot But she is gone, sir. She and her poor companion of the teeth. The very night we took them in they fled, and stole an ass. I do not blame them, for they lived in fear, although we'd not have harmed them for the world. Good God, though. To risk your neck for a young doxy, Sam. Lieutenant Kaye would slaughter you!"
"Not Mr. Holt," said Will. "Tis I, Sir Arthur. But there is more than that. We know they ran away, for we met them in London in, I beg your pardon, sir, in a sort of gay house."
"Hah," said Sir A once more. "Poor things, poor things, but what else could they do? But the smaller one, the little mouse thing, I can't recall her name, she had no teeth. Surely, even in a London bawdy house ... ?"
"Cecily is dead, sir," Samuel said. It came out harsh, and Sir Arthur bit his lip. Sam made a gesture to his friend, a helpless sign, that they should not go on. He finished lamely, "We think the mountebank has stole her back, the other one, so we followed here. And now we find you with this dreadful news and worry on your mind. We are truly sorry for it, sir, both of us."
There was another moment's silence, while Sir Arthur took all in, and pondered it. Then he raised his eyes.
"Why here, though?" he asked. "The villain is a travelling man. You found them in a wagon in a wood, I thought?"
"They said a magistrate had bought the teeth," said Sam. "We thought perhaps ... well, if the first set did not take ... so Deborah
"Please, sir," said William, "we wondered, I wondered, if perhaps you'd found him out? The man who made the purchase in the first place."
"On suspicion only," said Sir Arthur. "Suspicion only. There are tales, but with the maidens gone, well, what could one do, in anyway? Tony named a man, but he is of great respect, whatever one's opinion. And powerful, whose house is like a castle, almost fortified. Forgive me, but your story sounds like slander not like fact, like romance not firm sense. I'll wager that the maiden is not there, you have no proof, do you, of any kind? And if she were, and had been carried back, surely it is far too late by now, even if one could gain entrance?" He stopped, but neither of them spoke. He moved a hand, the fingers long and bony, in a gesture of regret. "Oh young man," he said, "I'm sorry for it, but you'd best forget her, hadn't you? We live in troubled times, but some cases are less terrible than others. Hers may be hopeless, or it may be not, but at least we have no inkling that she'll die for it. Be brave, sir, and forget her."
From Tony, later on that day, they did get more information, but it was as depressing in its details as Sir A's had been. He named Wimbarton as an almost certainty, and confirmed that tales had flown around the parishes that Mistress Amelia, or Milady as she madly styled herself, had got new teeth, then rotted, and was in her dying days. No hints had emanated that the mountebank was back, although there had been some activity in the past few days with Jeremiah leading horsemen in a search. It was Jeremiah, his man Fiske, and their band of ruffians he was most strong about. They were unhung desperadoes to a man, and kept the house impregnable. If the maiden was there, he said, she was there until it suited them, and no one else.
The interview with Sir A had terminated abruptly when Mrs. Houghton had bustled in uncalled, tutted at her master's state, and driven Sam and William to have a wash then breakfast. They had gone over both aspects of their trouble at length, but reached no conclusion as to what they should or could do, or attempt. Behind it all, and brooding, was the question of the Biter and Lieutenant Kaye. If he chose to, he could make life extremely hot for them for this action, and sometime soon, whatever, they must return on board and face it.