Death on the Romney Marsh by Deryn Lake Read Free Book Online

Daughter of a country parson marrying the Marquis of Rye. Have you ever heard the like?’ He did not wait for an answer, raising his glass on high. ‘Well, here’s to the rest of the journey, my friends. May we cross the marshland without mishap.’
    â€˜I’ll drink to that,’ said Dr Hensey, mopping his brow anxiously.
    The Apothecary returned to earth. ‘So will I. To the Romney Marsh.’
    â€˜And all its mysteries,’ added the Squire with a chuckle, and drew off the remains of his glass.

Chapter Three
    They left The Chequers in a sea of spray, and plunged into the early dusk created by the lowering cloud cover. Staring through the window, John saw that the rain was finally beginning to ease off and the wind die down, so that now the wayside trees no longer bent and groaned over the road but stood straight and somehow menacingly still. Mist began to rise from the fields and swirl eerily about. It was the sort of evening that would make even the most foolhardy think twice about going out, and the superstitious firmly lock their doors and remain within.
    â€˜Hobgoblin time,’ said Henrietta Tireman.
    John looked at her. The outrageously feathered hat and the charming elfin face beneath looked vulnerable in the coach’s dimly lit interior, and it was as much as he could do not to take her small gloved hand and hold it in his.
    â€˜Surely you don’t believe in such things,’ he answered.
    â€˜No, of course not. Not during the hours of daylight, anyway. But on several occasions when I have been returning home late, I have crossed the Romney Marsh after nightfall and felt afraid of things unseen.’
    â€˜And of things seen too, I should imagine. Wasn’t the place rife with smugglers at one time?’
    â€˜Very much so. They used to export sheep or fleeces, quite illegally of course, and bring back French brandy, tea, silks, all sorts of things. The whole black trade had been going on for years.’
    John looked thoughtful. ‘We’re both speaking in the past tense. So I presume the trials and executions of seven years ago really
did
put a stop to smuggling for good and all. Or am I being naïf?’
    Henrietta gave him a smile like quicksilver. ‘My dear Mr Rawlings, one will never put a stop to anything in which there lies a profit. Indeed, for a while, relative peace and calm descended but now I have heard that the past tense has yet again become the present. A certain Dick Jarvis, bastard son of the infamous Kit, alias Gabriel Tompkins, leader of the Mayfield Gang and involved in God knows what other mischief to boot, has returned to emulate his scoundrelly sire and is working the Marsh once more.’
    John laughed aloud at her turn of phrase. ‘Is he, by God! Well, let’s hope we don’t run into him.’
    Henrietta laughed too, though not quite so heartily. ‘I believe that despite his many other faults, Dick’s father was not known for his cruelty. Let us hope his son takes after him.’
    â€˜But surely the outbreak of war will put a stop to the fellow’s schemes. He’s not going to find it so easy to get his wool over to France with the French and English navies baring their teeth at one another across the Channel.’
    â€˜On the contrary, I expect his trade will increase.’
    â€˜Why do you say that?’ asked John, astonished.
    â€˜Because he will be seen as a useful form of transport for both spies and their secret correspondence. If letters go direct there is no fear of them being intercepted.’
    The Apothecary frowned. ‘That’s the second time this week that someone has mentioned spies to me.’
    â€˜No doubt you’ll hear the word frequently from now on. In times of hostility all the secret agents come crawling out of the woodwork, do they not?’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose you’re right.’
    John and Henrietta sat in silence for a moment, thinking about