"It mentioned you by name," Tony had said. '"The tall one, called Sam." The labourer said you'd interfered in other folks' affairs and must desist, or else you would be killed. Oh Mr. Sam, did you know this poor unfortunate? What means it all, for Jesus' sake?"
Sir A had not been told that they had found Yorke's body through a bribe, nor many of the details. Sam said now that the murdered man had been an informant, and guessed the other smugglers must have found it out. Both he and Will also guessed, but they did not say, that the men who'd killed Hardman must have had a damn good idea that they'd be coming down the London road this morning, or else their choice of place and timing was an amazing stroke of luck. The thought chilled both of them; they did not feel it wise to share it.
"But you were going back down there again!" Sir Arthur said in anguish. "If Kaye had not sailed off against Beaumont's orders, the villains would have strung you up, not him! You must not go now, you must call it off! Indeed, you shall not go!"
It was cold outside these days, with a definite feel of autumn. As always, the parlour had a fine bright fire, but Sir A seemed to have died somehow himself, or shrunk in and aged since Bentley had first seen him, not so very long ago. He was sitting close, hands folded on the knob of a walking cane, the fingers thin and bony. They worked against each other, constantly.
"Sir," said Sam, choosing words with care. "I do not say you overestimate the danger, that is a sort of thing a fool would say. Both Will and myself are conscious there are ruthless men in this, but we are confident we have the measure of them, to some degree. We are also confident, I think, that we are close to getting at the core of it. After what you said last time we thought long and deep about what we'd done, and who we'd seen and spoken to. Sir, Charles Yorke and Warren died, and we will never rest until we've brought their memories justice. I beg you. We beg you. Let us go-'
Bentley stood there feeling as if he were in another world. John Hardman's death had numbed him to the point where his thoughts seemed barely to connect with one another. Sam's speech had made no sense to him, although he got the gist and did, indeed, agree with the apparent sentiments. Hardman dead, Yorke and Warren dead, an enemy somewhere that was to all intents invisible and formless. Sam's face came into focus, eager, upset, passionate. They would go and find and fight a monster, he was saying, and they would win where other men had failed. Why? Will wondered it, but there came no answer. He heard his own voice speak.
"We've thought of nothing else," he said. "All the while on Biter, as we wasted time. Sir A, we are desperate to get the chance to do the world some good for once! We are Navy men, we are sick of pressing helpless sailors, of illegality, or sordid pettiness! Oh God, sir, we must go!"
He was panting through his nostrils, chest heaving up and down. Sir Arthur rose and came to them, took each by a hand. As he smiled, his eyes were glistening with tears.
"Lord Wodderley has allowed it, and has cleared it with the Customs House," he said. "For the King's Navy to volunteer its men to help, and for the Revenue to grant permission of acceptance, is no light achievement from anybody's side. If we unpicked it now ... Mark you," he added, 'nobody knew then about this latest outrage. Sam. William.I do not want you killed, my boys, I cannot stand you killed."
"Uncle," said Sam. He did not use the word in the normal way to Fisher, Will had never heard it said. They held each other's eyes, the old man and the young. "Uncle," he repeated. "We will not be."
There was further talk, but both of them, now the die was cast, wanted to get out of Sir Arthur's presence, and his house, and go to meet their fate head-on. He told them they could call on Customs men as reinforcements when they got to Hampshire Sir Peter Maybold's bond and that certain Navy men had been informed 'something was up'. Did this include Kaye? On that, Sir A was ambiguous: but certain he would not obstruct them any more, or try to override their higher orders. Best way with him though, all agreed, was to keep well out of range. They left mid-afternoon, well fed and watered, well provided for with money and small arms. Will watched Sam and his benefactor embrace, with a tiny twinge of envy. Then Sir Arthur gripped him by the hand, and looked into his eyes.
"My boy," he said, "I thank you for all this, from the bottom of my heart. Please return safe, and we will all have better times." He faltered, then he cleared his throat. "Return safe with Samuel," he said. "Take care of each, the both of you."
The death of Hardman made their plan for them, because whatever else, they knew he had been loved. They set their course for Chichester, to give them one good clear night of sleep, but talk it as they might could not improve upon their first idea to go to Langstone in the morning and plunge into the lion's den. Sam had an idea fixed that the Frenchmen were the key, or one Frenchwoman rather, as their agent, but Will kept what he saw as a more open mind. That the depths they had to plumb were deep and serious they had no cause to argue over. If Celine were at the centre of the spider's web so be it, thought Will; but it was Englishmen who'd died so far, and not by foreign hands, he guessed.
They both slept long and hard, sharing a bed for safety's sake, for they were pretty sure the gibbet at the crossroads had been set to chime with their arrival, and it was possible they had been followed on their way from Surrey. Possible but not likely, as the journey had been clear and in clear weather, and they had done some detours and some watching stops without surprising anyone. Further, they had not told anyone their destination not even Sir A himself on the principle that walls have ears, and even fine and loyal men like Tony was, in outward aspect, might be possessed of a black and secret heart. They breakfasted on lamb and kidneys, washed down with Sussex ale, and kept their conversation light and general. Back in the saddle, they japed each other for the care they'd taken to be like 'top-nick spies'.
As they passed through Emsworth, though, each felt the weight of expectation pressing down on him. The wind was keen and off the sea, which meant they could go muffled and their hats pulled low, but eyes seemed to linger on their faces, and to probe. There was a lot of traffic and the narrow way congested, and the fear of challenge grew in both their chests. By afternoon they were in Havant, which was jam-pack full, it being cattle mart, and they sat down in a crowded tap confident for the while that they were anonymous and safe. Until they saw Isa Bartram watching them, quiet in a corner of the room. When he knew they had seen and recognised, he emptied the pot in front of him and gestured towards the door. By it were three others that they knew, remembered as George, Bob and Joe, although Will could not put names to faces certainly. None had knives or pistols visible that was frowned on heavily in a town but there was no doubt that they were armed. And they were waiting.
Sam smiled at Will.
"It's do or die," he said. "Blood, but they have good intelligence. Here's to your very best of health."
He drained his pot.
William, meeting Isa at the door, had a certain feeling that he and Sam were very soon to die. The man was lean and bitter-looking, his eyes on them unflinching, hard.
"We have your horses," he said. "We were expecting you. You will come with us."
"Ah," said Sam. "Expecting us' as if it were significant. Will said: