Carlos looked to the deputy, glad that someone was taking this seriously. “So someone may be diverting resources for our soldiers in order to distribute it on the black market.”
“Quite likely, sir. Spargo isn’t exactly a patriot.”
Armitage stood up and said in a cool tone, “That’s enough talk for today, gentlemen. Mr. de la Guerra, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Should we have further questions, we will send word to Pencliff Towers. I will see what I can do about the whole matter, but I forbid you getting involved in the investigation.”
“Forbid me?” Carlos asked, forgetting for the moment that he wanted to present himself as an ordinary person, rather than a freelance ship captain hellbent on justice for the death of his friend.
Armitage noticed the heat in Carlos’s words. “Perhaps forbid is a strong word. But please step aside during our investigation. Civilians can thwart the cause of justice, even when their intentions are good.”
“So you will investigate?”
Armitage nodded stiffly. “I’ll send Rowe to the beach you mentioned to examine the hiding place and the contraband, assuming it’s still there.”
“I can go as soon as we’re finished here, sir!” Rowe volunteered.
The magistrate looked at Carlos. “Will that satisfy you?”
It did not particularly satisfy, but Carlos knew he didn’t have much choice. “Very well.”
“And you should forget about it, sir,” Armitage said, again locking eyes with Carlos. “I urge you to place your trust in the law. This is not your affair.”
Carlos left, feeling distinctly that the law was not something to trust in this part of the world.
Good thing he had a lot of experience going around the law.
Chapter 9
Some time after Carlos and Blanche went off in the gig, the larger coach left Pencliff, loaded down with both Hobbsons, the Metcalfe sisters, and Poppy (who had managed to write her additional letters after all). Despite all being packed like sardines, the group was excited and merry, and there were endless jokes told along the way.
When the carriage rolled to a stop at the Seven Sisters, the main inn in the square, Poppy was impressed by what she saw. For some reason, she expected a sleepy, even rundown fishing village. However, the place was bigger than she thought, and the buildings were well kept, with brightly painted doors and trim.
Elowen and Elisa bid them goodbye, saying that they would head directly to the doctor’s practice, and that if they didn’t meet up again by two, the sisters would hire a coach for the ride home.
“Not that we’ll permit that,” Hobbson said after the two walked off. “I don’t think Miss Metcalfe has much money to her name, not to mention that it would be very rude to take the girls into town and then leave them there like an old shoe.”
“Oh, speaking of shoes,” Mrs. Hobbson said. “Let’s find that cobbler Blanche mentioned. Miss Poppy can’t go around barefoot, now can she?”
The cobbler was easy to find, and Poppy was even able to purchase a pair of plain, black leather slippers from the shelf. The cobbler’s assistant (who also happened to be her daughter) measured Poppy’s feet and promised that the slippers would be trimmed to size and finished quickly. “You can pick them up after lunch, miss.”
“Thank you,” Poppy said, impressed by the service.
With her main task completed, she walked along High Street with the Hobbsons, peering in shop windows and admiring all the goods offered for sale. It was quite as good as nearly any street in London for variety and quality.
Poppy stopped short when she saw Blanche emerge from a shop, dressed in another stunning outfit. It made Poppy painfully aware she was wearing the same traveling coat as yesterday.
Mrs. Hobbson flagged her down. “Miss Ainsworth, you fairly bolted away from Pencliff Towers this morning.”
“Well, the early bird gets the worm,” Blanche said, her eyes on Poppy. “Mr. de la Guerra and I had a wonderful drive into town. He is most skilled…at handling the gig, I mean.” She wore a knowing smile on her face.
Poppy wondered if any of the shops on this street sold knives.
“And what are you about, Miss Ainsworth?” Mr. Hobbson was saying. “Shopping yet again?”
Blanche nodded happily. “A shipment of Valenciennes lace arrived. It is finer than what makes it to London, and one fifth the price.”
“Well managed, dear!” Mrs. Hobbson cried, with just a hint of mockery. “You’ll dazzle any future husband with your clever marketing.”
Blanche pointed out the shop, and then bid them goodbye as quickly as she could. After she left, Mrs. Hobbson grumbled, “Valenciennes lace, my foot. Let’s go see what this so-called lace looks like.”
