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FARLEY HAD ALWAYS heard there was a heart beating in Romney Marsh and that it was to be found in the east of Rhee Wall. Legend described this stretch of marsh as the fifth quarter of the globe. Its length of swampy flatland was
unattractive to one at first glance. To those that troubled, as he did, to look again, found the inexplicable, the air of mystery and a place that held and kept one’s soul.
It was covered in dikes, which intersected the countryside and was often laced with low hanging mist-filled clouds. Now and then a hill rolled through a sprinkling of trees, some were misshapen and eerie to look at, but Farley loved looking at this stretch of land and it was where he had made his home.
His was a one room thatched cottage, gray from age and lack of care, but its lonely location served him well. Deep in thought, he sat by his small hearth, rubbing his hands in front of the fire. With a heavy sigh he sat back and touched his scarred nose. A knock sounded at his door and he called out, “Come in lads.”
His men were punctual. He liked that in them. He was in a foul mood. His plan to take on the young lord’s sister had not gone well. He had been surprised by that flash gent that had arrived and intercepted his plans. Their funds were low and something would have to be done to keep his crew together.
“Right then Farley, do we cover the highway tonight?” One of them asked as he sat at the round table in the middle of the room.
He hadn’t worked the highway with them in an age and Farley was leery about reentering that field. High tobys were getting snatched up by the law in this area but it would appear they would have to go out just one more time. “Aye,” he said slowly, not turning to look at them when he spoke. “That we do lads…but let me think on it a bit. We gots to do it right.”
“We could prig the first carriage that passes through on the Dymchurch Road, we could,” another man stuck in.
“Chucklehead!” the chubby man to his left said derisively. “The Dymchurch Road, is it? Wit every nook of it covered by the land excisemen looking for a smuggler on his way to deliver his goods to London!”
“Well, we ain’t smugglers. They wouldn’t bother with us,” the man answered him.
The chubby man took off his wool cap and smacked the man’s shoulder, “Whot now, are ye naught but a twiddle-poop?” Then to no one in particular, he said, “A snirp. I’m dealing with a snirp!”
Farley got up from his chair near the fire and put his fists on the table, “Aye, Oi think we best stay clear of the free traders’ routes.”
“The other roads ain’t traveled that well by the swells…” offered another man.
“Oi know. That’s why we gave up riding the highway in the first place. If it isn’t a free trader in our way, it’s the excisemen. Well Oi don’t mean for us to bump into either of them.”
The chubby man shook his head and said as he held out a mug he had fetched from a side table, “Lor’ bless ye, man. Drop a bit of firewater in that, will ye?”
Farley grinned, took up a bottle of gin and poured a generous amount into the man’s mug before sliding it across the table to the others. “Now, there is a well traveled road that goes into Hastings. It might be nicely traveled this time of summer by some of the swells, what wit the flash coves giving their routs and small balls here and there.”
“Well, whot then and when?” asked another of his men.
“Right. Listen up, then, lads, listen up.” Farley’s grin was wide for he had it now planned out in his head just what they would do.
* * *
“Did Star seem unusually preoccupied to you?” Georgie asked Jules as they slowly rode their horses down the road. He had been attentive in a gentlemanly manner, but aloof ever since he had walked into Vern’s bedroom and appeared shocked to find her so close to Vern.
She knew how it had appeared and had been at pains, with off-handed remarks designed to display that she and Vern were like brother and sister. Had it worked? Apparently not, for he still seemed to hold himself apart.
He frowned and said without committed interest, “Quiet, perhaps. She seemed quiet, but then, Georgie, you know her so much better than I do.”
“Ah, so you say…”
“Well, don’t you? You seem to be very close, you and Star, as I see you are to Lord Berkley.”
“Vern? Yes, I hold him in great affection, like the brother I never had,” she said pointedly.
He eyed her for a long moment before he smiled, “Indeed. He seems to have a different notion.”
“Oh yes, but not because of any passion for me. He is in need of making a ‘good connection’ and bringing Berkley back.” She sighed, “You must see that?”
He seemed to give this some thought and nodded and with an obvious show of relief before asking, “What do you really think is going on? I agree with you, something is off with those two.”
Georgie was relieved for she was sure he now believed that she thought dearly of Vern but only as a friend. She sighed over his question and said, “Yes, a great deal is off, but when I asked her what in particular occurred earlier today, she would only sigh and say naught.”
“And you don’t believe that nothing occurred?”
