In Dangerous Company: The Dorset Boy Book 4 Page 12

“She and the children are well and visiting my family in Dorset,” Marty replied wondering if he would ever live Toulon down.

  “Dorset?” asked Turner wondering where they would be staying given the status of Martin’s family.

  Marty saw the look on his face and guessed what he was thinking.

  “We have acquired land and a manor house at Church Knowle. My family run the farm for us,” he explained.

  “Aah that makes sense of something my sister mentioned in a letter. You still write to her I hear.”

  Blaez chose that moment to get bored and he stood on his hind legs with his front paws on Marty’s chest.

  “Can we walk? Blaez has a short attention span,” Marty laughed.

  “He has quite a reputation, one to match yours,” Turner stated.

  Marty ruffled Blaez’s ears and grinned, then turned to Juliette and teased, “so, you have managed to tame the good Captain! His sister and I were beginning to despair he would ever find the right woman, despite all his looking.”

  That started an exchange of stories that had Juliette in fits of giggles.

  They had walked and talked for half an hour or so when Blaez suddenly pulled towards some bushes on the side of the road.

  “What is it boy?” Marty asked. He let him pull him forward while he pulled a pistol from his pocket. The dog pushed into the bushes and then stopped and whined.

  Marty pushed in as well and shouted.

  “Captain! There is a girl in here! She’s been attacked and hurt!”

  “Juliette find a constable,” Turner said, “I will help Martin.”

  She nodded and walked quickly back down the path to where they had seen a constable earlier.

  Marty and Turner, meanwhile, gently extracted the young girl from the bushes, and made her comfortable covering her with Marty’s coat. They could see she was probably from a middle-class family and about sixteen years old. Turner knelt by her and was checking her over for injuries when Juliette returned with a constable and another man that identified himself as a doctor.

  “Any idea who she is Sir?” the constable asked Marty.

  “Never seen her before. The dog found her in the bushes.” Marty replied.

  The constable looked at Blaez who gave him one of his direct looks back. He walked into the bushes and could be heard moving around. When he returned he held a purse.

  “This was further back in there,” he said and opened it. After a short rummage around he pulled out a visiting card. “Harold Mullins, Solicitor. Has a place in Chapel Street.”

  Marty looked at it and memorised the address.

  “I will go and see him. He should know who she is.” Marty told him. “The doctor has said he will take the girl to his practice. I will pay for any treatment she needs.”

  The constable took note of everyone’s names and addresses and his eyebrows shot up when he found out who Marty was. He didn’t object to Marty getting involved. He was, after all, just a Bow Street Runner.

  Marty got a cab to the address on the card. It was in a middle-class area of London in the Lincolns Inn district. He walked up to the house and confirmed it was the right house by the name on the brass plaque by the door. He knocked.

  A servant woman opened the door and Marty asked to see Mr Mullins and gave her his card. She let him into the hallway after giving Blaez a dirty look then disappeared to the back of the house. He heard a voice raised in question and then a portly man in a grey suit bustled out from the direction she had gone.

  “My Lord Candor, what can I do for you? Please! Come in, come in,” he insisted and took Marty into an office.

  Marty told him about the girl he had found, and the colour drained from his face.

  “You know the girl?” Marty asked.

  “It must be my daughter, Annabelle,” the man cried starting to stand. “Where is she?”

  Marty told him about the doctor and offered to take him to her. The man, obviously in shock, just nodded so Marty took a coat from a stand inside the door and handed it to him as he led him outside. The same cab was waiting just down the street and Marty whistled to get his attention.

  “Thought you wouldn’t be long,” said the driver, “so, I hung around like.”

  Once they were in and moving Marty asked, “do you have any idea who would do this?”

  Mullins looked undecided whether to say something or not.

  “I can’t help you, if you don’t tell me,” Marty pressed.

  Mullins looked at him and took hope from the steady brown eyes that looked back at him.

  “I borrowed money from a money lender in Bethnal Green and I got behind on the payments even though I paid the capital back with interest. He has been increasing the amount of interest every week I am late, and I could never clear the debt now. He warned me that he would take it out on my daughter if I didn’t pay up.”

  “Did he indeed,” Marty muttered.

  “He has a gang of enforcers, nasty ruffians, who collect his payments and beat up anyone who gets behind.”

  “How many?” Marty asked.

  “Six that I know of, but maybe more.” Mullins replied.

  Marty sent a message to the farm after he reunited the girl with her father. She had been beaten before being dumped in the bushes, her assailant had told her if her father didn’t pay, she would be raped next time.

  Marty was still angry when he got a visit from the de Marchets’ the next morning, but he hid it and stored it away. When they left, he changed into some older clothes and armed himself with a full complement of knives and guns.

  He was waiting in the study when he heard horses outside the house. The door opened and Tom walked in with his men behind him. Marty shook him by the hand and after a word they went back outside. The boys had brought a spare mount and though they had ridden hard to get there, their horses were still in good shape as they had changed them at the halfway point.

  They rode to Bethnal Green. Mullins had given him the address from where the money lender ran his business. Marty ordered them to dismount a short way from the house.

  The street was mainly given over to tailor’s shops and cloth merchants. Franco was detailed to stay with the horses and the rest walked down to the money lenders.

  They were two toughs at the door who were watching them closely as they approached. Marty didn’t slow down but just walked up to the nearest one who stepped forward. His foot lashed out kicking him in the left knee and as he started to collapse, he pistol whipped him across the head knocking him unconscious. He looked around and saw a young boy running down the street as if the devil was after him.

  Tom had moved almost as fast punching the other tough under the solar plexus and then hitting him with a blackjack.

  Marty nodded at the boy.

  “Reinforcements will be coming soon. Antton and Matai wait here, any one comes let us know.”

  Marty opened the door and the four of them entered. A voice called,

  “Frankie, who is it?”

  Marty signalled to the others and they moved together down the dingy corridor to a room at the back. There were two other doors and Garai and John Smith checked the rooms behind them. There was a thud from Garai’s room and a groan. He re-joined them with a grin, held up one finger and crossed his eyes. John came out of his room and just shrugged.

  The door in front of Marty opened and a bookish looking man with thinning hair stuck his head out. Marty stepped forward and shouldered the door into the man’s body sending him flying backwards.

  They entered and there was a flash of light on steel as a big man charged forward swinging what looked like a machete. Marty dove right, out of line and Tom swung a cutlass up in an arc from low to high. There was a scream of agony as it separated the man’s hand from his wrist, and the blade, with the hand still clutching it, flew off to the side.

  Marty got up and walked over to the bookish man who was in a heap on the floor with the wind knocked out of him. He grabbed him by the collar, dragged him
to his feet and pushed him on to a wooden dining room chair. He stepped back and straightened his coat, making sure the now terrified man got a good view of the weapons he carried.

  Marty leant forward.

  “Mr Goldsmith I presume.” He stated; it wasn’t a question.

  The man started to shake his head, so Marty produced a stiletto from his sleeve and prodded him in the throat. The shake turned to a nod.

  Marty pulled up another chair, placed it in front of Goldsmith and sat. He twirled the stiletto between his fingers and the light scintillated off the blade reflecting in bright spots around the walls. There was a noise from the front of the house and Goldsmith suddenly looked sly and cutty eyed. That ended when there was a bang of the door opening and Matai shouted.

  “Boss we have company but Antton’s got his guns on them.”

  “Garai, go help those two.”

  Garai pulled out a pair of pistols and went to the front of the house.

  “Now I want to talk to you about the attack on Harold Mullin’s daughter, Annabelle, and your dubious business dealings with him.” Marty said in a reasonable voice. “I want the name of the man who attacked her.”

  He waited and when there was no answer he sighed.

  “I admire your loyalty, but I fear you may be mistaking me for someone who is reasonable. You see nobody except you and me know we are here, and you don’t know who I am. Everyone you can rely on is,” he looked at his bodyguard who was huddled in the corner cradling his bleeding arm and moaning, “indisposed. So, I will ask again before I start removing your fingers one by one.” He glanced at the stiletto, tutted, put it back into its sheath and pulled out his fighting knife. “There, I always like to use the right tool for the job.”

  He smiled and Goldsmith suddenly had a dark patch appear at his crutch.

  “It was Stevie. I sent Stevie. He were only supposed to frighten her.”

  Marty nodded to Tom who left and went to join the men at the front and find out who Stevie was.

  “Good. Now I’m going to make you an offer,” Marty said leaning slightly forward to get Goldsmith’s full attention.

  “In return for not telling the authorities about your little racket and your, dubious, business practices, you will write off the debt with Mr Mullins. I understand he has already paid off the original capital with interest.”

  Goldsmith nodded, vigorously.

  “I expect there are more unfortunate victims of your greed and I would appeal to your better nature to treat them fairly in future. You see, we can always resume this conversation. I now know where to find you and if you run, someone will know where you have gone. I will always find you,” he said with his best wolfish smile.

  He looked around as if checking the room was as it should be, stood and the knife disappeared.

  “So nice to have done business with you.” He smiled and turned to leave. “Oh, I should get him to a surgeon if I were you,’ he said in parting as he walked out of the door.

  As he left the house he saw that a crowd had gathered. They didn’t look particularly threatening and the boys seemed relaxed. Franco was walking the horses up and Garai had a man knelt on the ground with a pistol to the back of his head.

  “Stevie?” Marty asked and got a nod in reply.

  “Tie his hands in front of him and tether him to one of the horses.”

  He looked around the crowd and saw some expectant faces.

  “Mr Goldsmith is revising his business and from now on will only charge a reasonable amount of interest that will not change while the loan is being paid off. If anyone has a complaint, they can take it to Mr Mullins of Holborn who is a solicitor.”

  He looked around and saw more smiles.

  “Let’s go boys.”

  Chapter 16 Armand Trouble

  He was in his study that evening reading the latest news sheet. They had delivered ‘Stevie’ to the Bow Street Runners and had told Mullins of their ‘conversation’ with Goldsmith. Annabelle was recovering. He was feeling content.

  There was a knock on the front door, and he heard the butler answer it. He looked up expectantly when there was a knock on his study door. The Butler came in and announced. “Mr Wickham, Sir.”

  Wickham walked in, Marty shook his hand, asked him to sit then ordered coffee and cognac.

  Wickham made himself comfortable and lit a cigar. Marty resisted the temptation to frown as he disliked the smell. He was just thankful that he had a fire lit and it drew the smoke away.

  Once they had been served and the butler left them alone Wickham took out a packet and tossed it to him. It was sealed with the fouled anchor of the admiralty, so he assumed it was his orders.

  “Nothing surprising in there,” Wickham stated sipping his coffee.

  Marty waited. Wickham didn’t deliver documents.

  “I hear you were busy this afternoon.” Wickham stated as if in passing. Marty wasn’t fooled.

  “I had the odd errand to run,” he replied casually.

  “Successfully I hope.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Will we find any bodies in the Thames?”

  “I don’t think so, it was mostly ‘armless.”

  Wickham pondered the burning end of his cigar then said.

  “You will have to delay your efforts towards Dieppe for a while.”

  “Oh, and why is that?”

  “Armand has been captured.”

  Marty froze with his glass halfway to his lips. He absorbed that, then took a sip and put the glass carefully on the table beside him.

  “How did he manage that?” he asked trying hard to appear casual.

  “It would appear that he decided to get a bit closer to the army encampment to check on something he saw. He overstayed his welcome and was spotted.”

  “Idiot.” Marty swore.

  “You need to go and get him out.”

  Marty didn’t answer immediately but thought of all the things that could be extracted from his friend under torture. Armand was strong but nobody could hold out against the professional questioning of the D.I.A. as he had already seen with his friend Jeroen.

  “Where is he?”

  “They are holding him in Fort Nieulay. It’s outside of Calais to the West and controls the river. They built sluices inside the fort to control the flow as part of the defences for the town and port. It is heavily fortified and manned by a full battalion of infantry and a regiment of artillery. It has a substantial curtain wall and a moat.”

  “Wow! You are full of good news tonight,” Marty observed cynically.

  “Don’t be cheeky.” Wickham countered with a half-smile.

  “Can you get all the information available on the fort here by tomorrow morning?” Marty asked.

  “I have people already gathering it.”

  There was silence for a few moments.

  “You know his wife?” Wickham asked.

  “Yes. Susie. She is the daughter of the landlord of the Wagon and Horses. They have a little girl.”

  “We need to get him back for them.” Wickham said gravely.

  Marty looked at him and saw worry and compassion in his eyes. Something he never expected.

  The next day he turned the dining room into a war room. The information arrived via an anonymous courier who said nothing, just passed Marty the box of papers and left.

  The team were all there except James Campbell. They would brief him when they got back.

  “Well gentlemen, we need to do a gaol break. Armand has gone and gotten himself arrested.”

  Various comments greeted that statement, most from the vocabulary of the lower deck and a few choice Basque words as well. Marty let them express themselves and then said.

  “Wickham has supplied us with everything known about the fort where he is being kept. Let’s go through that first and see where that takes us.”

  Maps and sketches were shared around but Marty had to read out any documents as he was the only one there who could read prop
erly. He decided there and then that he would try and remedy that in the future.

  Their conclusions weren’t good. It was a proper fort with good fortifications, fully garrisoned and on the alert. There was only one entrance and that was overlooked by two bastions and could only be approached by a bridge. Any kind of assault was out of the question. That left stealth and deception.

  They attacked the problem from every direction imaginable and a few that were just outrageous. In the end they realised there was only one way.

  Back at the farm they briefed James and prepared for the trip across to France. They would be taken over by the Deal boys and dropped at Crotoy. From there they would make their way to the road from Amiens to Calais. They had some late intelligence from the old man in Calais that they were sending a squad of cavalry from Paris to pick him up. How he knew that, Marty had no idea, but it all helped as now they had a timescale.

  They were all dressed in regular French peasant clothes when they jumped off the boat in Crotoy and were met by Gaston their regular contact. Bad news had travelled fast, and the smugglers knew that Armand had been taken. They offered to help in any way they could.

  Marty asked them if they could find out the location of the detachment of soldiers that were coming from Paris. He was well aware that their network could work really fast but was totally unprepared for how quickly they could get word out and information back.

  The next morning when they were getting ready to leave, Gaston came in and told them that the soldiers had overnighted in Amiens. Not only that, he reported that there were ten of them plus two officers. There was a cart with a prison cage on the back with two soldiers on it. The other eight were mounted.

  Marty was impressed but knew they had to move fast and needed more men.

  “No problem my friend, we will accompany you until the soldiers are taken and then some of our men will make up the numbers.” Gaston told him. “We will intercept them at Abbeville.”

  Horses were provided and they set out to make the ten-mile trip to the town. It didn’t take long as they cantered most of the way knowing they didn’t need to save the horses. They arrived well before the soldiers.