Chapter 15

15

R oland wished he could split himself in two. Between the tenants, Grace, and the missing children, he could scarcely be everywhere at once. There had been another minor disagreement between them this morning. He had wanted to leave Thorne behind with her. But she had, correctly, pointed out that Thorne would not have been able to assist with any of the other issues plaguing Northumberland, and she would be perfectly fine in the company of her maid and housekeeper.

So he instructed Mrs Yardley and Elsie to stick to the countess like thistles on the hem of her skirts, and left Mr Harding with the money he could scrape up on short notice to try to secure whatever repairs might be done at this time of year. If there was an issue with the countess, they would let Mr Harding know immediately. Mr Harding knew where he would be able to locate the search party.

So he, Thorne, and Colonel Ellesmere left at first light for Alnmouth.

All the signs had been pointing to the kidnapped children being moved to—or through—Alnmouth. It had been a long time since Roland had felt such a strong urge towards committing violence with his bare hands, but there was not yet a known perpetrator to focus his frustrated anger on.

He tried to release the feeling. He did not want to be like his grandfather, surrounded by men who feared him and his temper. But for the moment, he could not summon a convincing farce of an aristocrat’s bored indifference, and enough of his state of mind oozed from his posture that all three men rode in silence. Even Arion’s ears flattened back, picking up his master’s mood.

Alnmouth was, perhaps, a little larger than Lesbury all told, with upwards of five hundred souls living there. But the residents of Lesbury were mostly farmers, and Alnmouth’s population varied a little more widely with the port nearby. There were still many farmers, but the villagers were also sailors, traders, and fishermen.

Perhaps more significantly, at least to Colonel Ellesmere’s point of view, Alnmouth was a wealthier place. A handful of shipowners and merchants numbered among the well-to-do.

Since the Lesbury mill’s roof was still very much on Roland’s mind, he couldn’t help but notice one could not see nearly the same amount of marked degradation. How interesting. Had repairs been completed here before Mr Harding had run out of funds, or had some of the locals merely decided to take the matter into their own hands?

“I think it would be fruitful to begin questioning around the docks,” Roland said to the magistrate riding beside him. “If the children are being smuggled out of Alnmouth to work elsewhere, someone there may have seen evidence of it.”

Colonel Ellesmere looked uncomfortable. “Lord Percy, I understand the sense of urgency that grips you. I, too, would like to see the villain apprehended. It may yet come to this, that we must put questions to some of the rabble directly, but to do so before we speak with any of the gentry would not be proper.”

“Of course, magistrate,” Roland said stiffly. “I do not know any of the local men of standing. Perhaps you can take the lead and direct me to where we might find the most prominent merchant or shipowner first.”

Roland did not need to glance Thorne’s way to know the man’s thoughts. Thorne had always cared more for Roland’s sense of propriety than Roland himself did, but he also knew the value in not beating around the bush when one was rather certain where the most profitable source of information lay.

So many kidnapped children implied an operation that had profit at stake. Their villain was, most probably, among the gentry himself, and would therefore have little incentive to speak truth. If they wished to capture him, they would need evidence.

“While you meet with the respectable people,” Thorne said, his voice absolutely neutral, “I will pose questions to a few shopkeepers.”

It was a fair course of action for Thorne’s standing, and the colonel nodded brusquely in agreement. Roland turned in the saddle to meet Thorne’s eyes squarely.

Thorne’s blue eyes were dancing with malicious amusement, and Roland knew that his brother would instead head directly to the docks. Judging by the clothes he wore, Thorne had strategically dressed for this excursion. His outfit, while well made and somewhat new, lacked any of the ornamentation or ostentation of the upper class. He most likely wished to be perceived as no better than a man of business.

Roland was glad now that Grace had spoken sense to him in bringing him along. Despite his elevation, Thorne would continue to be his right hand in these matters. He was a man straddling the two worlds, and Thorne wasn’t likely to have any new rumours formed about him by the gentry that hadn’t already been uttered. But that didn’t mean Thorne intended to court the gentry’s opinions directly.

Roland let a half smile lift the corner of his mouth and he nodded slightly. His brother nodded back—almost a salute of sorts—and wheeled Horse around to head vaguely in the direction of a line of shops.

Mr Thomas Dacre ended up being Ellesmere’s first stop. The man was a seasoned trader, owning several ships that traversed up and down the coast from Edinburgh to Newcastle. While he initially seemed wary, perhaps due to their unannounced arrival, he welcomed Roland and Colonel Ellesmere into his parlour.

Mr Dacre served them whisky, although this time, Roland’s glass was filled with the lowland sort that was more floral and delicate than the kind Thorne had accosted him with. “I do much of my trade in the north in whisky,” Dacre explained. “Whisky for tobacco and salt. South, the route is mostly wool for coal. The war has been a most profitable event for people who know what is in demand.” The man’s eyes glinted as he drummed his finger on his glass.

They exchanged the bare minimum of pleasantries before Roland eased Mr Dacre towards the matter at hand. “Have any of your captains found children aboard heading for the south?”

“Ah, you are inquiring about those peasant children,” Mr Dacre said, looking completely unconcerned. “No, my ships do not deal in passengers of that ilk.”

“No stowaways?”

“Definitely not. But Lord Percy, I thought you were given to believe those rodents were kidnapped deliberately.”

Roland spread his hands so he would not give his reaction to that callous statement away by making them into fists. “Indications from the latest two missing are such, but there remains a small possibility that some of the other children that disappeared this fall were enticed with the promise of apprenticeship elsewhere.”

“I am sorry I cannot be of more assistance, Lord Percy. But no businessman or captain worth his salt would trade in human flesh, legitimately or otherwise. Not when wool is worth ten times as much by weight—and requires no feeding besides.”

They made small talk for a while longer. Well, Ellesmere made small talk, and Roland asked some few questions to help him gauge how Alnmouth fared in the absence of the duke’s presence. It sounded as though the locals might be exploiting a lack of greater oversight.

Dacre’s estate sprawled on a large section of the Aln, not too far from the shipping yard. So it was not too surprising that as Roland and the magistrate departed, they found a small delegation waiting on the main thoroughfare.

“Lord Percy, this is farmer Robson, who is serving as parish constable this year, and Mr Treadwell, Curate of Alnmouth,” Colonel Ellesmere said smoothly. “Mr Treadwell was good enough to take the pulpit after the old curate took ill and died this spring.”

“Wasn’t much trouble at all to relocate from Warkworth. ‘Tis important to ensure the Lord’s work is not interrupted, Colonel Ellesmere,” Mr Treadwell said piously, though a glimmer of humour sparkled in the man’s faded green eyes.

He seemed a genial man, perhaps ten years younger than the parish constable standing beside him. Roland imagined he had been serving the congregations of Warkworth beneath the rector; the empty post allowed him to spread his wings.

Mr Robson was assessing Roland rather frankly, and Roland, sensing only curiosity, returned the appraisal. Robson was whippet-lean, his face full of hard angles and his hair silvering at the temples. “The heir of the infamous Breaker,” Robson said after a moment, but his tone implied no disrespect. “It’s good to put a face to the name, Lord Percy.”

“And I am pleased to meet you both,” he replied. “What may Colonel Ellesmere and I do for you?”

“We thought of putting that question to you, Lord Percy.” Mr Robson said, rubbing an itch alongside his nose. “It’s most gracious for you to visit yourself, but a man of your stature surely must have more pressing issues to attend to. Please. Mr Treadwell and I are at your service.”

Colonel Ellesmere nodded approvingly. “Constable Robson, if you could, please let us know whether any search efforts for missing children in the area have taken place so far?”

“None of the children went missing from our area,” Robson said apologetically, “and until these last, we believed as the others did—that these children were runaways. I’ve done some looking, but to mount an effective search in these parts, we would need to conscript some of the townsfolk. Treadwell—well, he has had more luck so far than I in convincing people it ought to be their duty.”

“But you are the arm of the law here, Mr Robson,” Ellesmere chided. “Surely people would want to do their part.”

Robson flushed slightly. "Magistrate, as you well know, we farmers and tradesmen have our hands full. My own appointment came only because no one else was willing to manage the business of dealing with sotted fishermen. Asking half the town to abandon their work to search for missing children is a difficult matter."

“I know, Mr Robson,” Roland cut in gently. “That is a part of why I have been participating myself. We are all in this matter, together, and rank should be no excuse for allowing such harm to another to go unaddressed.”

Robson gave Roland a long look, and Roland thought the man might be attempting to squash exasperation with him, but finally, the constable nodded. “I can respect that opinion, Lord Percy. If you truly mean it.”

Colonel Ellesmere did not like Mr Robson’s response, but Roland held out a hand to stay his rebuke. Those of means in Northumberland had abided—even prospered—under poor stewardship from Alnwick, but Roland knew that would not be true for everyone. Grace had been finding her footing because of the long spell since the last duchess. It seemed Roland also needed to improve the image of the Percy men.

“I do, Mr Robson,” he said simply, holding the man’s eyes for a moment before looking for acceptance from Mr Treadwell also.

“Perhaps we should take further conversation to the inn,” Treadwell volunteered, indicating the building nearby. “The weather is fair today, but the breeze is frigid. ”

Over Treadwell’s shoulder, Roland could see Thorne standing a short distance away, waiting. Turning to the magistrate, Roland encouraged them to go. “Warm yourself, Colonel, and please take the liberty of arranging any matters required with Mr Robson and Mr Treadwell. I will join you shortly.”

As they left, Roland strode towards his brother. “You are back sooner than I expected. Did you find something?”

Thorne shifted to make sure no one was too close. “I found you a smuggler. Well, a former one.”

“I suppose he saw the error of his ways and repented?” He let his brother lead him swiftly towards one of the warehouses near the docks. “Brother, if we get robbed?—”

Thorne pulled him into the building and out of sight, after a quick glance to ensure no one was watching. A strong odour of fish and brine assailed Roland’s nostrils, and he stifled a shudder, recalling the damp, reeking nets in the hold of the Black Hawk. In the shadowed back of the warehouse was a man half hidden by a line of crates.

“Mr…” Thorne trailed off, waiting for the grizzled man to produce his name, but the old smuggler shook his head.

"Ah dinna reckon ye need me name, just what ah ken, aye? Ye’re the lords lookin’ for the bairns."

Thorne nodded, folding his arms over his chest, and Roland added, “My friend here says you used to be… a purveyor of certain fine goods.”

The man squinted, his eyes nearly getting lost in the weathered folds of his face. “Ah'll hold me tongue on that, 'til ah ken whether answerin'll see me clapped in irons, me lord. How bad d'ye want the truth?”

“I have met men who one might call honourable smugglers. Fishermen hedging against poor hauls and the like. I am willing to forgive goods—not trading in flesh,” cautioned Roland, unwilling to bend on that point. Not even for more information on the missing children. “You have my word as Lord Percy.”

The smuggler goggled briefly at Roland, as if he did not know who he had been talking to. “If that's how it is, ah reckon that'll do. Aye, ah was a smuggler, but ah doubt ye’d call me honourable. Ah didn’t do it for hunger or home. You and yer sort live yer fancy lives, me lord, and the only thing standin' 'twixt your houses and folk like me is ye’ve made ‘em believe they don’t deserve what ye have.”

He hurled those words like a gauntlet, as if the old man was waiting to see if he could upset them, but Roland was unmoved. “You said ‘ was .’ I assume you are a smuggler no longer.”

“The profits ain’t worth the risk no more—not when ships are headin' out wi' proper goods, lining the pockets o' the captain and crew. War’s been good business up here, y’see, what wi’ the price o' wool these days. Soldiers need their uniforms.”

Roland rubbed his chin. “Mr Dacre said something like wool is worth ten times as much by weight as a child.”

“An’ Mr Dacre’d have the right o’ it.”

“You extracted a promise from me to only tell me what I already knew?”

The smuggler rubbed his cheek. “I wouldn’t want to be tellin’ any yarns about what’s goin’ on at the docks, m’lord, but some folk might be spinning tales about what’s really going out in some o’ the sacks o’ grain.” The gaffer spoke the words like a riddle, one he clearly didn’t intend to answer for them.

Thorne was frowning, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on his arm where the bones had broken. It must be aching from the cold, Roland thought, despite the heavy wool… cloth.

Digging into his pockets, Roland found a half crown, and he tossed it to the old codger. “I reckon you have earned a good meal tonight.”

Roland strode quickly in the direction of the inn, and only Thorne’s inability to catch up without looking ridiculous slowed his pace. The two men found the magistrate still sitting with Mr Robson and Mr Treadwell. Everyone looked up from the table, surprised at the intensity of his arrival.

“Mr Robson, Mr Treadwell, forgive me for asking you directly, because I must confess that my knowledge of the industry in Alnmouth is sorely out of date. To your knowledge, is someone in Alnmouth spinning or carding wool in quantity?”

All three men at the table blinked at him as though he had suddenly sprouted horns.

“Er, no, Lord Percy,” Mr Treadwell answered. “At least, not to my knowledge. Sheep farmers there are aplenty, but… Well, perhaps Mr Robson would know better. He has lived here longer.”

Robson’s forehead creased heavily, his face growing solemn. “There are no wool mills here. Most farmers ship the raw wool elsewhere.”

The magistrate’s face was set in a heavy frown. “Explain the direction of your thoughts, Lord Percy.”

Roland glanced at his brother, fudging the truth a bit. “Sir Nathaniel discovered that someone is exporting more than just raw wool from Alnmouth. An odd circumstance indeed, especially if there are no mills in the area. And Constable, I would appreciate your help in determining where this wool appears to be coming from. I am possessed of a strong suspicion that if we find this missing wool, we might also find some missing children.”

Mr Robson’s mouth parted in surprise. Judging the faces around the table, he was not the only one aghast at the idea. “I will look into it at once, Lord Percy.”