Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Love stories; Smuggling -- Fiction
Tregenna glanced at her with more interest than before. When she spoke,
there was a certain quiet authority about her, most proper to the
mistress of a farmhouse; and he perceived that she was younger by some
years than he had supposed, not more than eight and twenty perhaps,
and that her features, though not handsome, had a homely attraction of
their own when animated by the action of speaking.
The brigadier, who, true to his profession, looked upon himself as a
rake of the first water, cocked his hat, put his hand to his side,
and leered at her with a roguish air, which was, in truth, not so
fascinating in a gentleman of his portly build and purplish complexion
as he fancied.
“You wenches in these parts are kinder to the beasts than to their
riders, egad!” said he, with a shake of the head that set his bob-wig
wagging merrily. “You don’t offer me a drink; and if I was to beg such
a favor of you as a word to tell me where to find the smugglers, I’ll
be sworn you’d give me a stare like the rest of ’em, and vow you’d
never heard of the creatures!”
The woman listened to him with modest gravity, her face quite stolid,
her eyes on the horse. Then she said, in a quiet, even tone, without
either prudery or coquetry, but with an air of being much interested by
what he said—
“Well, sir, I’m not going to tell you that. I know to my cost the
things that go on in these parts, and that there’s many a man ruined
for an honest calling by being drawn in with these folks. You see,
sir, it be in the air, and they breathe it in from childhood up, so to
speak.”
“That’s it; that’s it, my good woman!” cried the brigadier
enthusiastically. “Egad, my lass, you’re the first person I’ve met in
these parts to admit even so much. Now tell me, think you not ’twould
be better for you all if this thing, this free-trade, as they falsely
call it, was rooted out?”
“Ay, sir, I do think so,” said the woman earnestly. “And if I thought
you’d do your work without too rough a hand, I’d lead you to their
haunts myself.”
“You would? You would?” cried the brigadier, with great eagerness.
“Well, then, you may rely on me. If you’ll but take me to the spot
where they harbor, I’ll be as gentle as a lamb with the ruff—I should
say, with the poor misguided fellows.”
“Come, sir, then, with me,” said the woman, as she at once began to
lead the way back through the village at a smart pace.
The brigadier turned his horse, and commanded his men to follow, and in
a few minutes every horseman was again lost to sight at the bend of the
road.
Lieutenant Tregenna, who had heard this colloquy, had been inclined to
think, from the woman’s manner, that in her indeed they had got hold of
a decent-minded person who had no sympathy with the thieves.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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