Page 26 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
‘Right, where were we?’ Louisa cut through her thoughts. ‘Oh, yes, the note…’
The curator lifted the crumpled piece of paper from the tin, taking a moment to read the faded ink scrawled across it in an elaborate cursive hand. She gave a laugh of delight. ‘Oh, this is wonderful!’
‘What does it say?’ asked Lark. ‘I couldn’t make any sense of it.’
It says, “William’s pig is farrowing”.’
‘“William’s pig is farrowing”?’ Nate repeated the words, his dark brows knitting together in confusion.
‘That’s what I thought it said, but it didn’t make sense.’ Lark scrunched up her nose, turning to Louisa askance.
‘What the bloomin’ ’eck does it mean?’ asked Nate.
‘I can tell you exactly what it means.’ Louisa’s dark eyes were shining with intrigue. ‘It’s smuggler code specific to the smuggling gangs of Micklewick Bay, which included Benjamin Fitzgilbert. Bizarre comments like this were rumoured to have been used to let them know that a ship was nearby and ready to offload its contraband, and this tiny piece of history proves the rumours to be true. This very message would have been repeated verbally in a sort of relay to the members of the smuggling gang, who’d know it was time to get into position.’
Lark’s mouth fell open. She glanced over at Nate to see him looking equally in awe.
‘Sounds like it was a carefully thought-out operation,’ said Nate.
‘Oh, it really was – it had to be. And speed was of the essence with so many patrolling officers watching their activities. Most of the residents of Old Micklewick will have been involved in smuggling in one way or another, but the main team was made up of men with specific roles. There’d be the “spotsmen”, who’d be responsible for guiding the lugger closer to shore – a lugger was the type of ship they used. Here in Micklewick Bay the landing spot was Contraband Cove – no guesses as to why it’s called that! – tucked away at the other side of Thorncliffe where they’d be out of sight. Small boats would be used to transfer the goods from the lugger to the beach where the “landers” would take charge of unloading the contraband. The “tubsmen” – or “tubmen” as they were also known – would be waiting, ready to lug the goods off to their hiding places until it was safe for them to be distributed or carried off inland. Speed really was of the essence if they were to avoid capture by the customs officers.’
‘Blimey,’ said Lark.
‘I’ve heard all sorts of stories where some of the ships had secret compartments or false bottoms in which illicit goods were hidden. The smugglers were very resourceful in that respect. You’re familiar with the expression “bootleg” as referring to something that’s sold illegally?’
‘Yes,’ Lark and Nate said in unison.
‘Well, its origins are in smuggling. The legs of the long boots worn by smugglers were ideal for hiding smaller items of contraband, or “bootleg” as it became known.’
‘Crikey, I hadn’t a clue about all of this.’ Lark was in awe of Louisa’s local knowledge, especially since she’d only just moved to the area.
‘Another interesting fact.’ Louisa grinned, clearly in her element. ‘You might think of smuggling as being an enterprise based purely by the sea, but a lot of the contraband was actually moved very quickly inland. There’s an exhibition at The Museum of Moorland Life dedicated solely to it. A local family there, the Fairfaxes, had smuggling connections with Old Micklewick and a James Fairfax owned a house where contraband was found centuries after it had been secreted in a hidden cellar. It was found during renovation work some ten years ago. I do believe there are still members of the Fairfax family living in the villages nearby. And there have been other cottages on the moors where whisky casks and other items were found tucked away in long-since-forgotten secret compartments.’
‘Sounds like we might have to take a trip over there,’ Nate said, looking at Lark.
The dark shadows beneath his eyes momentarily distracted her, setting a pang of concern squeezing in her chest. ‘Oh, erm… yes, I’d love that. We could take my dad, if it’s still open at this time of year, that is.’
‘It’s open at the weekend, same hours as the heritage centre,’ Louisa said.
‘So you think this is all genuine smuggler-related stuff?’ Nate asked, directing the conversation back to the suitcase.
‘I do.’ Louisa nodded, picking out one of the small rounds of lead and holding it up. ‘These are what we call bullets these days, and the pieces of ripped cloth would’ve been soaked in grease or oil and packed into the pistol, or even wrapped around the lead balls to keep them in place and stop them rolling back along the barrel of the gun.’ She placed it back amongst the others and lifted out the dulled copper pouch, giving it a gentle shake. ‘And this was used to store gunpowder – from the sound of it, I’d say there’s still some in there. A small amount would’ve been tipped inside what’s called the “pan” of the pistol, and once the trigger was pulled, it would “trigger” a fast-moving sequence of events. A small hammer mechanism would hit the flint and the resultant spark it generated would ignite the gunpowder. The force from this would propel the bullet out of the barrel at great speed.’ She gave another laugh. ‘I’m so sorry, I did say the history lecture was over, but it would seem I can’t stop myself. I’ve got thoroughly swept away by my enthusiasm for your suitcase.’
‘Honestly, Louisa, there’s no need to apologise, Lark and me are both fascinated, and it’s amazing to learn about the other stuff in the tin.’
‘I agree,’ said Lark. ‘You’ve been enormously helpful.’ She was struck by the curator’s passion for her job. She could tell Louisa practically lived and breathed her work. Did it have something to do with the sense of loss she’d picked up on? she wondered. Maybe submerging herself in her job had been a coping mechanism, occupying her mind and keeping sorrow at bay. Or maybe she just simply loved her work.
‘There’s so much in this case that’s offering up clues to an intriguing period of time in Micklewick Bay’s history. There’s little wonder the eighteenth century was called the “golden age” of smuggling.’
‘As for the coins’ – Louisa selected three different ones, turning them over in her hand, pointing to the first – ‘this is a silver shilling. And this rather battered gold one is a gold guinea, and this one, I think, is a Spanish doubloon. There’s no guarantee they’ll be genuine since a lot of counterfeit coins were in circulation at the time, particularly so amongst the smuggling community, but it’s promising that all three coins tie in perfectly to the dates we’re interested in.’
‘Cool,’ said Nate, as he and Lark peered at the coins in Louisa’s hand. Nate picked each one up in turn, looking at it closely. Lark viewed them from a distance, reluctant to touch them and risk absorbing their energy.
The curator slipped the coins back into the case. ‘I don’t suppose you have any idea where this is for?’ She lifted out the large, old key along with the iron padlock. ‘There’s no way the key fits that lock, so they clearly don’t go together.’
‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind hanging on to the key for a few days, there’s something I need to check at Crayke’s Cottage,’ said Nate. ‘It struck me earlier this morning that there was a loose panel near the cupboard where we found the case. I wondered if there might be a door behind it; there could be something else hidden away.’
‘Of course, let’s hope you find something,’ said Louisa.
