"She says there are associates in the vicinity, sir. Ruffians with whom he's dealt before. Why should I mince words? It was a close call if they should be sold to them for playthings, or "pay their debts" by the selling of their teeth. I think the maidens chose, and he accepted because the fee was greater. Better to lose their ivory than be tossed to that crew, was their opinion. Now she says the crew will come for them and take them willy-nilly. Her "just desserts", she named it, on account she was the second string if Cecily's teeth proved useless or broke up, but she tried to run and hence the beatings in the woods. I think she has a bitter turn of jest."
Sir A stood thoughtful, and sucked his lower lip. William, worried, could none the less picture Deb's face. Surely, he thought, the condition of the girls was horrible. Sam Holt sipped metheglin.
"There is another thing," said Mrs. Houghton. "I said you'd have the law of him if he should even dare to do the slightest little thing. She laughed. She said, sir, that the man who bought the teeth is a magistrate himself. And asked me how the law would ever help them."
Sir A had stiffened slightly, contemplating his housekeeper gravely and in silence. He pushed his fingers up his temples, beneath his wig.
"Oh dear," he said. "A magistrate. A magistrate whose wife has rotten teeth. Did she say how far from here? Did she know? Is there anyone would fill that bill, think you, Mrs. Houghton? Any rumour?"
Mrs. Houghton pursed her lips. She was not about to assume the mantle of the local gossip. Sir Arthur Fisher sighed.
"Well, keep them comfortable, if you please," he said. "Nay, I know your excellence in that department, it is a form of words only. Tell them that they are safe with us, explain that Tony has a dozen men. Oh dear, poor maidens, to have been brought to such a pass. How old, Mrs. Houghton? Did they vouchsafe?"
She shook her head.
"The one that speaks, the one that can speak, says seventeen or thereabouts. Knock off a year or two, I'd say. They're grown, but still quite slight."
"Children," said the baronet. "God's blood, let's keep them safely if we can. Tell them that, please, Mrs. Houghton. Tell them I'll keep them safe until they are fit to move, and then I'll transport them safely wherever they might want to go."
"Which is where?" asked Samuel, oddly. "They come from the north if I know accents. Who will get them home again? You cannot guarantee them that far, sir, surely no one can? You cannot give all people succour in every circumstance."
It hung strangely like a jibe. Mrs. Houghton gazed at Samuel a long moment before she spoke.
"Aye, from the north," she said. "Hatter girls from Stockport way. They ran off from home as young folk do, and were saved or preyed on by this mountebank, whose name is Marcus Dennett, she believes. Oh, they have folks in London, that is their story, as it most always is. Friends of last resort, if they could ever find 'em! Sir, I will do my best. At the very outside we can keep them safely here. The hurt one may need a surgeon, if her gums go bad; they sometimes do, when teeth are ripped. I'll go to them."
When she had retired, Sir A mulled over details of such transactions, such 'monetary extractions', repeating several times that he had come across such awful things before, by hearsay if not in concrete. But he was deeply affected, muttering of 'dark times, foul times' distractedly, and grinding his wig down on his skull. Then, suddenly, he turned from the fire to face them, an expression of grim frankness on his face.
"You see, I think I know the man," he said. "I cannot be sure, but..."
"What? A neighbour, sir?" cried Holt. "But ... but surely no magistrate would ..." He tailed off, reddening. Bentley's expression remained stolid. Sir Arthur noted it.
"You do not seem surprised, young man," he said. His tone was peculiar. "Is this sort of outrage rife, where you hail from?"
It was William's turn to flush.
"I have never heard of such a thing before, sir," he replied. "Indeed I scarcely can believe it happens. It is only that I..."
He faltered. There was a weight of history on him, that he did not wish to make a song of. His history he preferred kept under boards. It was his, not anybody else's.
Sam Holt spoke lightly, but somehow he made the words sound like a mild rebuke once more.
"William is a midshipman, sir," he said. "Younger than myself a shade, but the action he has seen has been a good deal hotter. He was in the Welfare, sir. His uncle was her captain, Daniel Swift." To lighten it, maybe, he added: "He is a Hampshire man. Near Petersfield. They are not noted, as I've heard it, for their bestiality."
Sir A's gaze did not falter, but his stance was modified. He nodded gravely, everything explained. He made no comment, for which William was grateful. Over the intervening years, where ships were talked about, the Welfare's fate was always known, his uncle was a bogey or a hero, nothing in between. Bentley, from interlocutors or acquaintances, craved indifference.
"A Hampshire man," the baronet responded. "I have a man in Hampshire this very day. Do you have dealings with the Customs down your way?"
Strange question. Down his way? Perhaps Sir Arthur did not know the geography.
"The Portsmouth men, sir? Unfortunately not, it is near twenty miles distant from my house. I... my dealings with the Navy have been rather slight these last years."
"To say nothing of the Navy's with the Customs!" said Holt, amused. "You know how well those two fine bodies rub along together! This man, though, sir? Would that be Charlie Yorke?" He smiled at William. "Sir A has a ... well, not a son, precisely."
Sir Arthur nodded.
"I am his uncle, but to me he is a son," he said. "Sam understands it very clearly. Yes, it is Charlie; he is a riding officer, sir. Or rather, he is down there on Customs House business, he and another man." A cloud passed across his face. "It is near two weeks since I heard news of them. It is a desperate venture they have undertaken."
William looked expectant but polite. Sir A shook his head, as if to clear it. There was no more forthcoming, apparently.
"It is a wicked thing, the trade," he said. "Are you bothered with it, where you live? Petersfield is on the London road, I think?"
Will nodded. He did not want to talk of smuggling; that brought back hard memories, also.
"My father's house is off the beaten track, sir. We are not bothered by it nearly. It is quite small beer thereabouts, I do believe, being the distance to France is great and the Lowlands greater. Not the wild armies that I've heard of to the east."
"Ah," said Sir Arthur. But he let the thought die off, as if he'd changed his mind. He cleared his throat. "And why are you young gentlemen along this road tonight? Are you for London or going for the coast?" A smile at William. "Young Mr. Holt could tell me more about his engagements but no longer cares to, do you see? Own life to lead, eh Samuel? Own life to lead!"
Samuel smiled stiffly.
"Not a bit of it, Sir Arthur, it is just I have been busy for a month or two." To Will he said: "Sir A has done much for me, in times gone by. If it were not for him '
"No!" said the baronet quite sharply; but his eyes were kindly still. "Samuel, you have made your way, not I. I did my bit when you were younger and had some small need of it, now I'll hear nothing more. Mr. Bentley, Samuel will pass for lieutenant whenever he is called to be examined, and his only course is up. If you are to be shipmates with him, you are lucky. You will never find a better man."
It was handsome, but Sir A avoided possible embarrassment by begging their presence for a late supper and then a bed. What business, he demanded, could get them out upon the road once more, at this late hour? Nothing!