The landlord scooped up the coins and grinned. It was a genial grin, not an expression Godfrey had ever seen on his face.
“Right y’are, my friend.”
The other man nodded and tasted the cognac. It met with his approval and he gave another nod. The landlord returned to his counter.
“Now, young sir, to business. What d’ye ‘ave?”
Godfrey took a gulp of cognac, trying to think what it was about this unsavory character that was so unsettling. There was the most unlikely air of authority about him, and even though he sat slumped in his torn and grimy jerkin, he gave the impression of being completely in charge of the proceedings.
“Silks… some of them painted,” he said, tapping a finger on the stained table. “Velvets and lace from the Low Countries.”
“Silk and salt water don’t mix. As I understand it, they came from a wreck.” Something flickered in the deep-set gray eyes. Something cold and unpleasant.
“They were in chests,” Godfrey said, despising the defensive note and yet unable to prevent it. “Protected.”
The other man nodded. “An‘ pulled out in double quick time, I daresay.” Again there was that flicker in his eye and a note in his voice that sounded almost sardonic.
Once again Godfrey controlled his rage. For the moment, he was powerless, obliged to take what insults this disgusting, low-bred creature tossed at him. But that would change. “It’s the business,” he said coldly. “One you know yourself, I imagine.”
His companion made no reply. He drank again from his cognac and glanced towards the bar counter, raising a hand at George, who nodded and came over with the brandy bottle to refill the cups.
When he’d departed, Godfrey’s companion asked coolly, “So, what else beside stuff? D’ye have tea? Silver? Glassware? China? She was a merchantman, wasn’t she?”
“Aye.” Godfrey’s eyes sharpened. “Very rich. We had great good fortune.”
“That ye did,” the other man murmured. “Pity ‘tis that what’s good fortune for some should be the devil’s own luck fer others.”
It was almost too much. Godfrey half rose from his stool at this taunt. Then he sat back and shrugged. “I’m willing to share my good fortune, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
“True enough, true enough, young sir,” the man said, his tone suddenly placatory, almost wheedling, so that Godfrey began to feel confused and as if he stood on shifting sands.
“So, I’d best take a look at the spoils,” the man continued. “I don’t buy sight unseen.”
“How much are you interested in buying?” Godfrey forgot confusion. His heart beat faster as he saw salvation.
The other man shrugged. “Depends what I see. I buys what I likes. If ye’ve goods that please me, then I might take the lot. As I say, it depends.”
“The full consignment…” Godfrey fought to conceal his jubilation. He said decisively, “For the full consignment I’ll be asking a thousand.”
The other man merely raised an eyebrow. “If ‘tis worth it, then I’ll pay it.”
Godfrey considered. Now he was unsure. How could this miserable-looking man have the means? Fear prickled his spine. Was it a trap?
“Don’t worry, my young lordling, ye’ll not be betrayed by me.” The voice was soft, indolent, and the eyes were suddenly clear and to Godfrey’s astonishment youthful.
And once again came the sense that all was not as it seemed.
“When do you wish to look at the consignment?” he asked, forcing himself to speak firmly and steadily.
“Tomorrow, at midnight. Meet me in Puckaster Cove.” The man stood up, pushing aside his stool. He stood for a minute, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his patched britches, looking down on Godfrey. “I’ll wait no more than a quarter hour. Come alone. Ye’ll find me alone.”
“How can I trust you?” Godfrey demanded.
The man shrugged. “Same way as I can trust you, I reckon.” Then he turned and strode from the inn.
Godfrey watched him go. He seemed to stoop but it did little to disguise his height and nothing to conceal the lithe, supple strength in his slender frame. Who was he? What was he? Not what he seemed, that was for sure.
Godfrey’s expression darkened. He hated mysteries and this one was a dangerous puzzle. If he didn’t know with whom he was dealing, if he underestimated him, it could bring utter ruin. He must control his impatience and tread carefully. He looked up and caught the landlord’s eye. Mine host was regarding Godfrey with an unholy gleam, as if he was reading his thoughts.
Deliberately Godfrey spat his indifference to the landlord’s challenge into the hearth before stalking from the inn. His horse was stabled at the rear. He retrieved it and rode back to Carisbrooke Castle, his mind in a ferment. That little glimpse at the man behind the unpromising exterior had convinced him that whoever his unpleasant and insolent customer was, he would be able to come up with the required funds. That was really all that mattered.
The guards at the gatehouse challenged him as he rode up the ramp to the arched entrance to the castle. They opened the gates and let him in and he went straight to his quarters in the governor’s mansion. His room lay beyond the guarded chamber in the north curtain wall that now housed the king.
The king’s three escape attempts had exhausted the patience of both the governor, Colonel Hammond, and Parliament. His Majesty had been moved from his commodious quarters in the Constable’s Lodgings to a more secure and easily guarded location. He continued, however, to conduct daily audiences in the great hall adjoining his previous bedchamber.
Godfrey, Lord Channing, was one of the governor’s equerries. A post that, while it brought little in the way of financial recompense, was prestigious, provided comfortable room and board for himself, and maintenance for his horses-a great drain on any nobleman’s purse.
Such considerations for the impoverished scion of a proud, ancient, but penniless family were not to be derided. They were not, however, sufficient for a young man of Godfrey’s personal ambitions. He was heavily in debt. The lifestyle he believed was due his family name and position was a hugely expensive one. Clothes alone cost him a small fortune, and while smuggling and wrecking offered some remedy for his financial ills, the trade and his own desperation put him at the mercy of men like the landlord of the Anchor and potential customers like the villain he’d had to placate this evening.
When he entered his chamber, he was still seething over the insolence he’d had to endure.
“You look as if you lost a sixpence and found a groat,” Brian Morse observed. He was sitting at the table in front of the fireplace, a sheet of parchment in front of him. He moved the candle so that it illuminated Godfrey’s face. “Did your business not prosper?”
Godfrey shrugged and filled a pewter goblet with wine from the leather flagon on the table. He noticed sourly that in his absence the flagon had become very light. Brian Morse had obviously had a thirst on him. “The man’s a villain,” he observed.
Brian chuckled softly. “Aren’t we all, my friend? Aren’t we all?” He drank from his own goblet. “I’ve been composing a letter for your potential father-in-law.” He indicated the parchment on the table. “You need the right words to get his attention. And when you meet my little sister, you’ll need to have something to offer her. A knowledge of the Greek poets might help… a talent for chess… a delight in Pythagorus’s theorems.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow.
Godfrey sat down on a stool beside the fire, stretching his booted feet to the fender. “I’m a man of action,” he stated with a touch of complacency. “I have no scholarship… no time for it.”
“Well, you’d best cultivate some,” Brian said harshly. “Because I assure you, this particular little prize won’t fall to a man who rejoices in a lack of learning.”