“But what of the flower?” Captain Fielding objected.

“Flower?” I enquired, all attention to every detail.

“A white flower was found near the hanged man,” Mrs. Barnewall supplied. “It is the talk of all Lyme.”

“A rose, was it not?” This, from Letty Schuyler.

“No, no!” her sister Constance cried. “It was a lily. I have heard the Reverend intended it as a sign, but know not what it signifies.”

“But should a man of the cloth be likely to commit murder at all?” my father cried indignantly. “We are not in Rome, where all manner of evil may be perpetrated in an odour of sanctity. The Church of England may be charged with many faults — a laxity of moral purpose, betimes, and an unbecoming luxury, on occasion; to such faults any human institution may be prone. But the taking of a life! I profess myself quite shocked that you may credit the notion, and toss it about as a commonplace among yourselves.”

“My dear Reverend Austen,” Mr. Crawford said with a knowing air, and great good humour, “you quite mistake the Miss Schuylers. They speak not of a clergyman like yourself — ho! ho! a very good joke that would be — but of a notorious scoundrel who devils these parts — the very Reverend, who is famed for bringing contraband goods from France, and supplying all of England with his wares.”

“A smuggler!” I cried. “I had not an idea of it!”

“Indeed, Miss Austen,” Captain Fielding replied, “the Dorsetshire coast has ever been prey to the evil. The Reverend is merely the latest ringleader of an ancient trade indeed. The Gentlemen of the Night, as such fellows presume to call themselves, have long plied the coves and secret harbours of the very waters beyond those windows.” And with a bow to the ladies, he added, “I must declare myself quite of the Miss Schuylers’ opinions.”

“But which?” the youngest, and the prettiest, enquired with a winning smile. “For you know, Letty and Susan cannot either of them agree.”

“I think either equally possible, for the Reverend's hand is certainly behind the gibbet,” the Captain diplomatically replied.

“And I, Fielding, cannot see the sense of it,” Crawford broke in. “The man's livelihood depends upon his discretion. Why, then, take the fellow's life in so public a manner? Would it not have been better to settle the score in privacy, and in the dark of night? A man might be thrown over the side of a swift galley, on a run from Boulogne, and no one the wiser. No,” the good gentleman continued, sliding a hand into his ample waistcoat pocket, “I think the gesture too public. The scaffold was quite deliberately placed at the end of the Cobb. We might almost think ourselves recalled to Monmouth's time.[24] There is more here than meets the eye; the hanging was meant for an example. A message has been sent.”

“But to whom?” I enquired.

“There's the rub of it. And from whom?” Mr; Crawford's balding pate began to shine with the honest sweat of his enthusiasm.

“I still hold to the Reverend,” Captain Fielding said stubbornly.

“But who, my good man, is he?”

“You mean to say that the miscreant has never been seen?” my father interjected, with some astonishment.

“Not a glimpse or a whisper has anyone had,” Mrs. Barnewall said exultantly. “The man is said to operate in such disguise, that even his lieutenants may not know him in daylight, much less the Crown's drunken dragoons. On this depends his success; so that nothing is more guarded than the Reverend's identity/’

“I thought to have seen him once/’ Mr. Crawford said, turning to my father, “at my fossil site. A party of men beached a boat just below the cliffs, and commenced unloading a cargo. But the cargo turned out to be fish — and there is nothing very contraband about that, you know.”

Amid general laughter, my father's interest was swiftly diverted by the mention of fossils; and the two men were soon engrossed in a discussion well-suited to the interests of them both. I rejoiced in the discovery of Mr. Crawford — a man of little physical distinction, being of short stature, decided rotundity, and middle years, but possessed of an intellect that must be pleasing to my father. I had not the opportunity of knowing Mr. Crawford better, however; for as with one thought, the two older gentlemen moved towards the card room, still talking of botany and cliffs, and the Reverend Austen did not reappear for the majority of the evening.

“Lord!” Mrs. Barnewail cried. “I am perishing of thirst! And where has my husband got to? Playing at loo, again, and playing high, I've little doubt. Come along, Letty, and preserve me from boredom. I am sure you should like a glass of wine as much as me.”

And with a nod on my side, and several insincere simpers on theirs, the Barnewail retinue moved towards the supper room in a swirl of trains and delicate shawls.

I found myself quite alone with Captain Fielding, and under the pain of the moment, cast about for a topic; several were adopted and discarded as unsuitable; and though my curiosity was raised, I resolved not to ask for the meaning behind le Chevalier, since the Captain had appeared so little inclined to discuss it. But I was saved all the trouble. The music began, the Captain bowed, and we moved into the dance.

“You have been in Lyme before, I think,” he began. “I am sure that I observed you in this very room, some months ago.”

“It is exactly a twelvemonth since I visited Lyme,” I cried, all astonishment “How came we not to meet before?”

“I was little able to dance before this summer, Miss Austen; and you will observe that I manage it now with a very poor grace,” the gentleman replied, with a wry look for his game leg.

“You were wounded in service?”

“Off Malta, in ‘99; a brush with the Monster's forces.[25] I was unlucky enough to be on the gunnery deck at the very moment a cannon came loose; and the full force of a thirty-two-pounder rolled over my leg — which was, as a consequence, removed on the spot.”

At my sympathetic ejaculation, he returned a smile. “In one fell swoop I went from Post Captain to millstone about the necks of my men. I was fortunate, however, in having a First Lieutenant of the first water; and we prevailed before the night was through.”

I thought of dear Frank, and dearest Charles, and shuddered despite the heat and noise of the rooms — for how much danger and horror might they even now endure, far from home and the expediency of news; they might yet be killed, and we know nothing of it for weeks or months. My depth of feeling must have been written upon my countenance, for Captain Fielding's voice noticeably softened.

“You cannot be so moved on a stranger's account,” he said, with concern. “Someone dear to you is similarly engaged in battle, even now?”

“My brothers,” I replied. “Perhaps you know them. Commander Charles and Captain Frank Austen, of the Red.”

“I was of the Blue, I fear,” Captain Fielding replied, “and though I may have heard the name of Austen, I cannot in honesty claim acquaintance with your brothers. They are presently at sea?”

“Frank is with Rear Admiral Louis, in the flagship Leopard off the coast of Boulogne. They are blockading there, and constantly exposed to enemy fire. I fear for Charles less; he awaits his transfer to the East India station.”

“But a storm or misadventure may strike as readily there as in the heat of action.” Captain Fielding's tone was pensive, and I felt all the injury his brave spirits must endure, in being forced into retirement at the very moment hostilities were renewed. “You may look for their rapid advancement, however,” he said, thrusting aside regret and affecting a cheerful air, “now Buonaparte is likely to invade. Many brilliant careers are forged in battle.”[26]