Lord James Harrington and the Summer Mystery by Lynn Florkiewicz

Author:Lynn Florkiewicz [Florkiewicz, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lynn Florkiewicz
Published: 2013-11-24T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Lewes Inn, an eighteenth-century pub in the centre of Lewes, just a few miles from Cavendish, provided a cool haven from the afternoon sun. James and Beth had the pick of where to sit as the few lunchtime visitors were standing at the bar. James guessed that, with the number of pubs in Lewes, customers were scattered around the town’s drinking establishments. They took up a place in the rounded corner of the building that looked out onto the road.

The wine and soda water quenched their thirst as they studied the ‘Champions 1958’ engraving on the tennis trophy. The tournament in respect of the juniors, seniors and doubles was over, but the ladies’ and gents’ singles matches were yet to be played. Following that would be the social get-together to round the whole thing off, where James and Beth would be called upon to present the trophy. Beth traced the engraving with the tip of her index finger. ‘Shame Cavendish didn’t do so well this year.’

‘No, I think we need to brush up on our playing skills,’ replied James. ‘Still, we may redeem ourselves in the singles, or perhaps we’ll get our own back with the cricket tournament next month.’

James took a sip of his drink and scanned the cream-coloured walls. The subject of the paintings triggered a sudden realisation.

‘I say, have you seen these pictures? They’re all about smuggling. This must be one of the old smuggling inns that Charlie was speaking of.’

Beth got up to take a closer look and knelt elegantly on a bench seat to study one picture in particular. ‘The Owlers.’ She turned to James. ‘That’s what you were talking about on the way here. They’re the wool smugglers, aren’t they?’

James joined her. ‘Yes. Wool and sheep. Oh, look at this.’ He bent closer to read the tiny print on a faded slip of paper. ‘This is all about distribution. “Most contraband goods were distributed in the middle of the night and tubs were split to spread the risk.” Now, this is interesting. “Smugglers in the South of England followed roads and tracks through villages to the outskirts of London where they’d meet merchants.”’

‘What are tubs?’

James pulled her over to another picture and a further gem of information. ‘Here you are, here’s one about sowing the tubs. Oh, this is a copy of a Turner painting.’ He moved in to read the description. ‘It says here “Spirits and other goods were sealed in barrels and tipped into the sea to collect later. They anchored the barrels in the shallows and tied an inflated bladder and feathers to a tub-rope to serve as a buoy.”’

‘How disgusting.’

‘But how enterprising, too. Listen to this. “The barrels were secured together to form a raft, anchored to drift just beneath the surface and that’s what ‘sowing the crop’ means.”’ He turned to Beth. ‘That’s rather interesting, isn’t it?’

‘Into smuggling, are you?’ An elderly gentleman with a florid complexion and rheumy eyes had approached them.

‘Rather,’ said James. ‘There’s something

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