Page 41 of Until My Last Breath

The trap was arranged. They just needed to wait for the doctor to arrive.

As they feared, the fog became denser, reducing the visibility. For this reason, they did not see the shadowy figure lurking around, sneaking inside the house by the servants’ door — someone familiar with the house and its vicinity.

Dr Hayford arrived at 8:15 pm as arranged. Looking around, he knocked on the door. It was opened some minutes later, and after their usual greetings, he was inside.

“It is time,” Richard whispered.

~ ♥ ~

Lord Matlock was in his library when the butler announced Mr Duncan.

“Ah, Duncan, please come in. Any success?”

“Indeed, sir. Nothing like some guineas to open people’s mouths to the right questions. We found out about the pirates. As it seems, the old days of piracy ’ave been revived by the smuggling trade during the war. Apparently, the ease in which this black market grew inspired other old vices — among ’em, smuggling young ladies. There’s a ship leaving from Portsmouth to meet with the pirates. The only question is where.”

“Unbelievable! How is that even possible?” Lord Matlock asked moving his hands in the air.

“It seems, my lord, that the navy was too busy with Napoleon. Who would’ve thought that this business of smuggling brandy would become such a nasty thing?”

“Indeed. Well, at least their departing point is in our favour. Portsmouth is not exactly a big place; with enough men, we should be able find them.”

“Indeed, sir. I’ve already sent word to the authorities in the area to stay alert.”

“How did you find about all this, Duncan?” Lord Matlock asked, letting his large body collapse on his leather armchair, closing his eyes.

“It was an old sailor, a bit in his cups, who swore a ship with a suspicious contraband will be leaving Portsmouth in two days’ time. I took the liberty of bringing ’im here. I thought it’d be better to keep him with me, to avoid, you know… a sudden disappearance. I just suggest some strong coffee, and perhaps some food, to keep him on his feet. The poor man’s no more than an old rag.”

Lord Matlock’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. “Duncan, did you bring this man here, now?”

“Yes, my lord,” Mr Duncan replied calmly. “I thought the prospect of talking to someone who could help us to end this terrible business, exceeded by far any fear we could ’ave about the man himself. He is an inoffensive fellow, and I have the impression, due to his background, that he can provide some invaluable assistance.”

Strong coffee was ordered, and the old man was brought into the library, and introduced to Lord Matlock.

The old Irish sailor — Mr Lynch, as the man presented himself — had a pitiful, crooked appearance, smelled of sweat and fish, and reminded Lord Matlock of an old barnacle. But despite his sad façade, his blue eyes seemed quick, and he his deference was faultless. He was offered a cup of hot coffee and a plate with ham, cheese and fresh bread, which he gladly accepted, bowing.

“Thank you, Mr Duncan, milord,” he said, smelling the food and closing his eyes in visible appreciation.

After eating and drinking, the old man looked more human again.

“Now Mr Lynch, as I told you before, we’re investigating the disappearance of numerous ladies. We were informed they might ’ave been kidnapped and delivered to a group of pirates, who sell ’em in countries of Eastern Europe — God knows what for. You told me this afternoon that you were aware of the facts. Could you tell us more? Keep in mind that any ’elp will be generously rewarded and… any indiscretion gladly overlooked.”

Surprisingly, in contrast to his dreadful appearance, Mr Lynch had a good diction, despite his strong accent, and vocabulary. “Indeed, sir. I knew a chancer who lost his life couple of years ago dealing with those condemned manky souls. After that, I left Portsmouth and came to work here in London.” He paused and looked at his empty plate. “Could I have another piece of ham? I cannot remember the last time...”

Under the man’s satisfied grin, Mr Duncan refilled his plate with another portion of food. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. I had earwigged some lads saying the smugglers would dock at Portsmouth this year.” At the confused expression in both men, he added, “They depart from different ports every year on the same day. Clever buggers, the bunch of them.”

“Have you, by any chance, also heard when they are leaving?” Lord Matlock asked hopefully.

“Yes, sir. On the 14th April. At least, that’s what I earwigged. But I don’t know anything about the pirates — may their bodies be infested with purulent wounds for eternity.”

Mr Lynch saw both men blinking and was not sure if it was because of his swearing. “I know what you might be thinking, how can he know that, isn’t it? Well, I have lived the last twenty years like a cobblestone on the road. I have become part of the place, you know; people do not see me anymore. And sailors, ah! When in their cups, their mouths can be like a lash from the skies. They will tell you even about the thumb they used to suck when small lads.”

Mr Duncan and Lord Matlock frowned, exchanging confused glances. Whatever Mr Lynch was conveying, it sounded like he knew what he was saying.

“But why do they sail on the same day every year? And why ’as no one reported it before?” Mr Duncan asked.

“I don’t know, sir,” replied Mr Lynch, “but it seems their reputation was yielding them a good profit; they smuggle a variety of other things. Manky men from all around the country seem happy to provide them what they need, even if the sentence for such acts is death. The only thing moneycannot buy is the salvation of your soul.”

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