Anthony lived his life beyond the law, but this man was vermin in his eyes.
Godfrey turned to the right when they reached the undercliff. The uneven path was rocky, more of a goat trail than a path. He picked his way carefully, while Anthony strolled along as if walking on greensward.
Sam and his fellow watcher kept their distance, moving like wraiths in the shadow of the cliff.
Godfrey stopped in the middle of the path and waited for Anthony to come up beside him. “Disarm yourself. I’m not such a fool as to show you the goods when you’re carrying a sword.”
Anthony shrugged and unbuckled his swordbelt, laying it on the ground.
“What else are you carrying?”
Anthony bent and drew a knife from his boot. This he laid beside the sword. Then he extended his hands with another shrug.
Godfrey nodded. “This way.” He turned to the cliff face and pushed through a cascade of weeds and vines. Anthony followed.
They entered a cave, black as pitch. Godfrey felt around at the entrance. Flint scraped on tinder and a small light glowed from a lantern. Godfrey held the lantern high to show the bales and crates piled up against the walls.
“Take a look.” He put his free hand to his sword hilt and drew the blade an inch or two from its sheath.
Anthony’s smile was not a pleasant one as he heard the sound, but his back was to Godfrey and the other man didn’t see his expression.
Anthony examined the wares. They were in good condition for the most part and would sell well at auction in Portsmouth. He loathed wreckers, but was too pragmatic to look a gift horse in the mouth. Later, when Godfrey Channing was no longer useful, the pirate would impress upon him the error of his ways. For the moment, he would use him. And the king’s cause would be the beneficiary.
He took a piece of chalk from his pocket and moved among the goods, marking his choices with a cross. “I’ll take these four chests, the figured silks, the two bales of velvet, the Brussels lace, the case of delftware and the other of Venetian crystal. The rest is dross.”
A crispness sharpened the fisherman’s drawl. Godfrey didn’t notice the slight change in the vowel sounds. He knew only that this was a man who would do business.
“A thousand guineas,” he said. “We agreed on a thousand guineas.”
“Only if I took the whole. I’ll pay eight hundred for what I’ve named. Not a penny more.”
Eight hundred was eight hundred. “Done.” Godfrey rubbed his hands together. “How will you take delivery?”
“Leave it to me, young sir.” Once again it was the fisherman who spoke. “They’ll be gone from ‘ere by mornin’.”
“And payment?”
For answer, Anthony tossed the pouch across to him. Godfrey, caught by surprise, grabbed for it and missed. It fell to the ground with a heavy clink. He bent and picked it up, unaware of the fisherman’s curled lip and contemptuous eye.
“The rest will be delivered to the Anchor at midday tomorrow. I reckon George’ll be wantin‘ his share. Seein’ as ‘ow your ship’s not come in.” The fisherman laughed and it was not a kind laugh.
Godfrey’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. There was nothing he would have liked better than to have spitted the man on his blade. He demanded angrily, “What time will you take delivery? I’ll be here.”
“Soon after dawn, I reckon,” the fisherman drawled. “No need for ye to be ‘ere, though. My men know what to do.”
It must now be around one o’clock, Godfrey calculated. Dawn was but four hours away. He’d get no sleep tonight. “I’ll be here,” he stated. Did the man think he was fool enough to let him take delivery unsupervised?
“Please yerself.” The fisherman shrugged and turned to the concealed entrance of the cave. “Stand watch if it pleases ye. My men’ll not lay down their arms, though, I give ye fair warnin‘. They move fast and quiet and will be out of ’ere by six. They’ll not take kindly to bein‘ followed, either. An’ their manners aren’t as gentle as mine. So keep out of their way.”
And he was gone, leaving Godfrey alone in the cave with his rage and his five hundred golden guineas.
Anthony retrieved his weapons and strode back along the trail. Sam and his fellow materialized from the shadows of the cliff some hundred feet from the cave.
“You can find it again?”
“Aye, sir.”
“At dawn, then. You’ll need ten men, probably three boats. The goods are marked with a chalk cross.”
“Should us expect trouble?”
“I don’t think so. The little man’s too greedy to risk this sale. But be on the watch anyway.”
“Aye, sir. You goin‘ back to the ship?”
Anthony smiled then and lightly clapped Sam on the shoulder. “No, not yet, my friend. And there’s no need to be anxious. I have my wits about me.”
“I ‘ope so,” Sam muttered. “Mike’ll be waitin’ at the top fer ye, I suppose.”
“I certainly hope so.” Anthony laughed and loped off down the oath.
Mike was waiting at the head of the path. Two ponies grazed placidly on the springy grass of the clifftop.
“Success, Mike?” Anthony unbuckled his swordbelt.
“Aye, sir. I’ve drawn ye a rough plan. Miss has ‘er chamber at the side of the ’ouse.” Mike unfurled a sheet of paper. “See ‘ere, sir.” The drawing of Lord Granville’s house in Chale was a competent piece of draftsmanship, every door and window clearly marked. “There’s this ’ere tree, see. Magnolia.” He pointed to the tree beside the window in question.
“How very convenient,” the pirate murmured, peeling off his mustache with a wince. “You’re positive that’s her chamber? I’d hate to barge in on my lord Granville and his lady.” He thrust the ratty mustache into the pocket of his britches and took out a handkerchief and a twist of paper that contained salt.
“I ‘ad it from Milly, sir. She’s a maid there. I’ve known ’er since she was a babby, an‘ she was ’appy enough to offer me a pot of ale in the kitchen an‘ chat, like.”
“What about dogs?” Anthony’s voice was muffled as he scrubbed his blackened teeth with the salt.
“A couple of hounds, but they’re kept in the kitchen at night. They’ll rouse the house if’n they ‘ear ye, though.”
Anthony thrust the handkerchief back into his pocket and examined the map. “The kitchen’s at the back of the house?”
“Aye, sir. There.” Mike pointed.
“Then they won’t hear me.” He folded the map and reached into his pocket again. He drew out a slim volume, weighing it for a moment on the palm of his hand, a half smile on his face. Then he tucked the map inside its front cover and pushed the book into his pocket with the handkerchief.
He took the reins of one of the ponies. “Keep hold of my sword and I’ll be back here before dawn.”
“Shouldn’t I come with ye, sir? Watch yer back, like?”
Anthony shook his head and swung himself astride the pony. “This is a frolic of my own, Mike. I’ll watch my own back. Be here at dawn to take the pony.” He grinned, raised a hand in farewell, and nudged the horse into a canter.
He left his mount at the gates to Lord Granville’s house, hobbling him so he wouldn’t stray, then stood back in the lane to survey the obstacles to clandestine entrance. The gates were locked; the red brick wall was high but presented no problem to a man accustomed to climbing the rigging of a frigate.
He was up and over the wall in a moment, landing in the soft earth of Lord Granville’s garden. It was very dark and quiet in the shadow of the wall, the silence of the night broken only by a blackbird’s trill and the rustling of small animals in the undergrowth beneath the trees.
Anthony approached the sleeping house through the trees. There were no lights visible; only a curl of smoke from the kitchen chimney gave evidence of habitation. Keeping to the grass, he walked soundlessly around the side of the house.
The magnolia was a venerable tree massed with thick, glossy leaves. A sturdy branch reached almost to Olivia’s window. And the window was most conveniently ajar.