conclusions I drew—was intended to draw—from his words and actions. His extensive establishment of the gardens—over so short a period of residence—becomes more comprehensible when one considers the labour so necessary to the excavation of the tunnel and storerooms, and the secreting of their purpose amidst a quantity of greenery. (I must endeavour to find the labourers who effected it, since the Captain assuredly did not) His behaviour, too, on the first occasion of my visiting the wilderness temple, now bears a different construction; for the Captain's anxiety at Cassandra's indisposition is revealed now as a fear of discovery—and I recall, with all the clarity of the remembered day, his haste in summoning the ladies from their stopping-place, and his closing the tool-shed door, before ever he enquired as to the extent of my sister's distress. I wonder I did not remark upon it before—how a gendeman encumbered by a wooden leg, should choose the greater exertion of crossing the little pavilion entirely, on such a trivial errand.
But what, exactly, did he endeavour to hide?
Are the goods stored below the temple but a repository of the Crown, and the representation of contraband seized on behalf of the Revenue men? —Or are they symbols of a duplicity more sinister still, in being the fruits of Captain Fielding's clandestine trade, achieved amidst the odour of sanctity he wore like an epaulette? If the former, then assuredly Roy Cavendish should know of the goods’ existence, and I had but to apply to the gendeman for a full disclosure. I could not feel myself to be easy with this notion, however; for why should such contraband not be immediately transferred to the Lyme Customs House, and thence to London? For what possible purpose should it be retained in hiding?
At the thought of Mr. Cavendish's unfortunate countenance, his oily manner, his effort to twist my affections and obligations to his own ends—I could not flatter myself secure. For all I knew, he might well have colluded with the Captain himself, and the two embarked upon a profitable enterprise, in the seizing of others’ hard-won cargoes without the knowledge of the Crown. They might summon the dragoons, and take possession of kegs and caskets, without a single remark other than a smuggler's curse; and none in Lyme be the wiser. I could credit Mr. Cavendish with such nefarious behaviour, though I knew him not at all; there is something in his manner that does not inspire confidence.
I will keep my own counsel for a time, until I know what may safely be said in his hearing.
But Captain Fielding? Could so noble a gentleman be so wanting in principle?
His knowledge of the smugglers’ operations must tell against him. He understood the nature of captains and landers, and their preferences in coasdine and weather; his very home afforded a likely spot for the observation of all their traffic, being sited on rising ground. I imagined that he possessed, as any Naval fellow might, a sound spyglass for scanning the horizon; and he was better placed than many to anticipate the disposition of Royal Navy ships, and the strength of their pursuit, in foiling Channel crossings. Valuable intelligence indeed, if one but put it to the purpose; but what motivation might the Captain have had, to so betray his trust?
I summoned to memory his weathered face—the bright blue eyes, the boyish shock of hair; and could find there no hint of malevolent purpose. But when I considered again his broken figure—the indignity of his affliction, his dependence upon a cane—my heart perceived another sentiment. Captain Fielding had sacrificed a great deal, in the height of his powers, and lived to see all his hopes blighted; denied advancement, denied glory, denied a lifetime his youth had toiled in the making— and given, perhaps, very little by way of gratitude or pension. Had he died off the coast of Malta, he should have won a place in glorious history, and been saluted by his comrades for valour and example; but as it was, he merely suffered for the winning of ignoble retirement, with a lifetime of regret and thwarted purpose before him. A terrible bitterness, coupled with a weary cynicism, in observing the considerable profits of Free Trade, might be little enough to effect his transformation—from gallant officer of His Majesty's ships, to roguish profiteer.
I must consider, finally, what he himself had avowed— that the skills of many a smuggling captain were so very great, given their familiarity with the most