Chapter 4

Thomas Bailey read the letter with a sinking heart. It began well, with praise and applause for his work thus far in tracking down the gold smugglers, but it made little mention of Mary Coleman. It became quite clear, that the Magistrates had bigger fish to fry. As long as the death of this girl did not affect the gold smuggling gang, then she was irrelevant. It was left to him to track down her murderer. Joseph Arkwright had only been sent to assist in the eventual arrest of the smugglers gang.
Bailey threw aside the letter in disappointment and reached for his mug. Arkwright and Melchior were both sitting by the fire and talking in cheerful voices about previous arrests and neither registered the sudden momentary lapse of control as Bailey closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together. For the space of a few heart beats he sat on the window sill in vulnerable despair then a loud knock at the door brought him back to his usual state of self control.
Outside, Doctor Farrell stood in the rain, his moustache drooping.
“Good God, what a foul tempest to be sure” he laughed
“Come in Doctor, come in. Come and sit by the fire,” Bailey exclaimed, “Joe shift your arse and let the doctor sit by the fire there!”
“Would you like a brew of coffee sir?” Joe asked as he made way.
“Oh yes please, that would be jolly nice” Farrell smiled.
Joe passed Bailey on his way out to the kitchen, and rolled his eyes at the doctor’s posh Rochester accent. Bailey ignored him, and moved to take the doctors sodden coat to hang it with the others to dry.
“So how is Lieutenant McKee doing?” he called over his shoulder.
“Ah, well… “ The Doctor turned from introducing himself to Melchior and waved his hand to indicate uncertainty. “I’m afraid the poor man is not doing very well. I had hoped to move him today, but his delirium seems to be getting worse. In fact, he is showing worse symptoms today that he was yesterday.”
“That’s too bad” Bailey muttered. “Did you find out which ship he was with?”
“Indeed I did,” Farrell, opened his bag and took out a note book. “I wrote it down so I wouldn’t have to remember it… here it is, he was on HMS Anson. Homeward bound from convoy duty in the Baltic”
“Hmm, the Anson eh?” Bailey mused, he’d never heard of this ship, but he was no sailor, and the Chatham ship yards, and the Medway River was filled with shipping of all sizes. He’d ask de Hogue he decided, and then he realised de Hogue was late. Where on Earth had the man gotten too?

At that moment, de Hogue was making his farewells to Annie Sheppard. The rain had died down to a mild drizzle, and as he walked down the garden path, he studied the abject figure of John Sheppard sitting out on the strand. Surely not the behaviour of a mere friend?
Deciding against any further inquiry at that point, de Hogue turned left and made his way back into the village.
The streets were deserted, and even the harbour, with its fishing boats rocking gently on the swell seemed to belong to another world. High overhead the gulls wheeled and danced in the wet air, and he saw the high clouds scudding by beyond them.
Across the water, the mainland and Sheppey were long gone, obscured in the grey haze of more rain to come, and for a brief instance, the sun suddenly broke through the clouds and Welles harbour was bathed in a heavenly light.
A seagull flying over head began screeching its lonely cry, and in that moment de Hogue felt a great satisfaction with life.
Everything around him seemed to take on a vibrant glow as the sun touched it. The dry stone walls of the church yard, and the weeds that lined the lane. The brilliant white chevrons of the sea birds in the sky and even the heavy wetness of his clothes, all seemed to belong to this one moment of frozen time.
Perhaps their really is a God, he thought. For a second or so it lasted, then the clouds shut out the suns rays again and the wind chilled him. The moment was passed, and he pressed on harder to Bailey’s cottage.