DICK AND EBENEZER —MR. Crawford, whose passion for fossils allowed him unquestioned observation of the Charmouth coast, and a presence for labourers on each and every day, and a cavernous excavation where he might easily have constructed a hidden room, for the purpose of secreting contraband—Mr. Crawford, whose demeanour and reputation assured him an unquestioned propriety, the better for conducting his nefarious business. Mr. Crawford, who never lacked for tea, or the best of brandies, and whose sister went about clothed in a dressmaker's dream of black silk; Mr. Crawford, whose fortune seemed so easy, despite his open hand to friends, and the liberality that too often placed others in his debt—a debt, perhaps, that might purchase goodwill and silence, did those friends think to question his activities.
Mr. Crawford, who clearly knew of Sidmouth's habit of marking his horses” shoes, and was quick to tell the entirety of his dinner guests the fact, only a day before Cap-tain Fielding met his untimely end. Mr. Crawford, whose friendship with Sidmouth might make him privy to the man's concerns, and cognizant of the import of a white lily left by the dead man's feet; and whose sadness at discovering the very hoofprints that should betray his friend, must disarm the suspicions of ail—particularly Mr. Dobbin, the justice, who could not be expected to believe such a gendeman in any way involved in a crime of passion. Mr. Crawford, whose forge at the fossil site might readily have served to craft such a set of shoes, well before he undertook to murder the man whose relations with the Lyme Customs officer, Roy Cavendish, had quite disrupted his lucrative trade.
Mr. Crawford the Reverend, and Percival Fielding's murderer. It strained even my propensity for cynical calculation.
I sat down upon the lowest step in an attitude of shock, the lighted taper dropping from my nerveless fingers. James could not suppress an exclamation of anxiety, and fell to his knees by my side.
“Dear miss!” he cried. “Are you unwell? What can I have said?”
I reached a shaking hand to ward off his concern. “It is nothing, James—nothing—a mere trifling indisposition. I shall be myself in a moment.”
“A glass o’ water, mebbe?” He dashed into the scullery and rummaged about in a cupboard, reappearing in-standy with a saucerless teacup filled to the brim. “You drink that down, now, miss, and you'll be right as rain.”
I brushed his hand aside and rose, my faculties all but routed. “I must be off at once,” I said. “I must speak with Mr. Dobbin!”
“At such an hour?” James's voice was doubtful, and I saw from his look that he thought my senses quite fled. “He'll be a-bed, surely, or close to it.”
“That is as nothing. The man must be stopped.”
“What man, Miss?”
I ascended the stairs as hastily as I knew how, in search of a bonnet and cloak, paying little heed to my father, who emerged from his bedroom in nightshirt and cap, his countenance overlaid with wonder.
“Are you intending to pay a call, my dear? And in the middle of the night?”
“It is not above ten o'clock,” I replied crossly, and turned from him in haste. “I do but go to Mr. Dobbin, and shall return direcdy.”
Comprehension dawned on my father's face. “But do you know the proper direction? Had not I better accompany you?”
At this, I paused—for indeed, I had not the slightest idea of where the justice of the peace was to be found. “I shall have James to accompany me,” I said, with an air of decision that brooked no reply. “He will know the way, and may serve as greater protection in case of need. Do not alarm yourself, Father, and endeavour to disguise the truth to my mother. Inform her I have been called to the side of a sick friend—Mrs. Barnewall, if need be—at the lady's request.”
“Are you certain, Jane, that such activity is required of your benevolence?”
“Justice demands it, Father. I shall not be long.” I gave him a swift kiss, and received his hand on my head in blessing, and turned from him in a swirl of my wool skirts.
It was as James and I stepped out upon the threshold of Wings cottage, and turned up Broad towards the center of Lyme, that the glow upon the horizon—so incongruous in so dark a sky—astounded our senses. We stood aghast, our purpose forgotten at the sight of the blaze, and smelled the sharp odour of wood and tar upon the wind.