A glow of pride swept over Will at this. He had not needed to. He licked rain off his lips, uncomfortable. And what if Deb had not found him out? Appalling thought.
"So," he said, after a brief, stiff pause. "You think it only lust, do you? Not serious emotion? Or a worthy one?"
"Hah! Three questions all in one! You should not link "lust" with "only" in the first place, whatever I think, though what's wrong with good old lust? And is it serious? Oh well, it can be, believe me. And what's more worthy than to do the act by which we're made? You sound like some old knock-kneed vicar, or a puritan. It may be lust, I suppose, but only time will tell. You've not done anything to test it yet, have you?"
Will did not reply to that, and his silence must have pricked Sam's conscience.
"You're serious," he said, after a little while. "But Will, you cannot really think you love the maid, surely? She is one of Dr. Marigold's! And yes, if you want me to answer, I do believe in love. I think maybe, once, I was almost touched by it. And I have seen it, certainly. I've seen maids torn to bits and men made fools by it. That's why people marry, isn't it, to avoid the traps and pitfalls? With love we'd all be destitute."
A cloud swept down low then, and for a while the dogged horses stumbled on, heads bowed, while Sam and William hunched into their cloaks to try and guide them through the most unpleasant bits. The traps and pitfalls, Sam had said. Will's mother and his father had wed like every other pair he knew, for family, land, inheritance. It had not occurred to think of them and love.
When the squall had eased, Sam reined in and turned his horse so that he could face him. His hat was like a triple waterfall, his face pale and streaming, the tip of his nose bone-white and pinched.
"Look, love is not for us," he told Will, seriously. "Maybe it is lust, and it's run you mad, or maybe it's lack of sleep or something simpler than that. We're under orders, man, we're always under orders. Sent here, sent there, sent one day to our deaths. Look at us now. If we don't drown on horseback we'll get shot, how can you think of love? Think of the maiden, if you love her and have pity!"
Will tried to smile, appreciating that Sam was lapsing into jest only to soften it. As he picked past, he tried to joke himself.
"At least she's poor," he said. "If a maid depended on me for wealth and luxury, it would be terrible. She's used to poverty."
"Aye, but it's us who are dependent," replied Sam, following. "I don't want poverty, friend, I've had my fill of it. It is us who must find rich ones, and damn quick. Do you want Slack Dickie lording you around? You do not! Do you want to spend your life with sixpenny harlots, with or without the scars and bruises? Indeed you don't! There are two ways in the world for us, boy rich wives or prizes. Deb's breasts are passing beautiful, but you could suck 'em till the cows came home if you had money in your pocket. I do believe in love, and you ain't got it, it's not for you, you can't afford it, do you catch the way I'm drifting? When we get back to Sir A's, for God's sake slip her five shillings for a shag. You'll be amazed how quickly you forget her, then, or at least get over thoughts of love. I tell you if you're that besotted, go up to a sovereign, or a guinea, that will clear your mind. Rich wives do it just as well for nothing, and they bring their father's wealth into the bargain! The ugly ones are the most generous of all I'm told, and you can always blow the light out first, or close your eyes! For God's sake, Will, it is not sensible. She's a whore?
Ahead of them, a small house was emerging from the sweeping mist, with a stream of smoke blowing almost horizontal from its stack. Will nodded dumbly when Sam indicated they might stop and sup, assuming it was some kind of tavern, glad that this conversation should lapse. It had a walled yard, with men to take and feed the horses and get them in the dry and warm, and soon they were inside, beside a good wood fire, being divested of their outer clothes and never mind the splashing on the flags. Hot gin was brought, and towels, and the smell of roasting meat was strong, and for a while their talk was all domestic. That Sam pitied him for Deb was not in doubt, and he said no more that might upset him. Will brooded though, and sometimes had a flash of memory and delight. He supposed his friend was right, in all the details; he was a second son, no expectations, and Deb was a ... a victim of ill circumstance. He thought maybe he ought to welcome the fact a gentleman like Wimbarton could want her for her beauty, that she carried in her loveliness the seeds of an advancement. But it made him rather sick, was all. Sam, after some tries, insisted they must talk about their mission, and as they supped they did. But oh, Will thought from time to time, such pain, such joy, such misery.
They travelled all the afternoon, but this time with a purpose. After long discussion they had both agreed the best way, and the quickest, would be to try for information from the source, exploiting Will's own past as well as his knowledge of terrain. Neither was confident that it would work, and if it did not they knew it would be dangerous, although as Samuel said they had the benefits of Sir Arthur's guns, and cash, and two good horses, if they did not die of chill! They made for Chichester, a busy, lively town with men of business in the streets, and merchants, traders, solid citizens of every sort. They went into an inn, paid in advance for lodging there, and let themselves be seen at backgammon in the parlour, with not a care save a steamy dampness around the shoulders of their coats. They talked about the filthy weather with their fellow guests, and reckoned winter to be earlier each year. But they asked no questions, none of any sort.
The ride to Langstone in the morning was a hard and anxious one, but they did it boldly and their bravery paid off. At breakfast they had wondered if their plan was wrong, but Sam was an impatient man, so set a time for them of two full minutes to come up with another one. They failed although Will suggested they might get his boat from Port Creek and go by sea so the subject was foreclosed. They ate a solid meal, checked their saddlebags and strapped them to their waiting horses, and clopped out beneath the arch into the clean, fresh, sunny air. The main streets of Chichester were paved, and had been cleared and washed down in the night. A mile away, however, the westward road was a canal of liquid mud.
It was crisp this morning, with white clouds blowing across a pale blue sky, but Will and Sam were sweating before much time had passed. The way was very busy, the bog-downs innumerable, and the labour to keep their horses out of the worst parts hard. Sam laughed at one stage that a boat trip would be fine indeed -except that Will's yawl was moored two miles beyond their destination. However, by sea they would have turned up like honest men, and not like two scarecrows made of mud and dung. Will further pointed out they had no idea of the state of tide, and that his yawl was in the mud eight hours out of twelve. Also, on horseback, they possibly had more chance of escape if the men they sought turned villainous. Smugglers, whatever else, were the very ace at seamanship.
They passed through Emsworth beyond midday, which even Sam, from distant parts, knew as a haunt of the free trade. It was time to eat and wash and rest the mounts, so Will suggested Havant, a small market town just farther on, close to Langstone but not on the sea so less likely as a point of trouble. They chose a small inn in the shadow of the church, where they took a room to stow their saddlebags so they could travel light. It seemed they both still favoured going in, walking abroad, and seeing what might happen, and, strangely, it excited them, this dreadful inexperience as spies. Now it was close they relished the thought of action, any action.
"I tell you what," said Samuel, "I'm glad I joined the sea service, ain't you? Much more of bouncing on a bloody leather saddle and my backside would explode. How far is it to Langstone? Why don't we walk?"