âis why anybody, peddler or freebooter, would bring tariffed spirits into a province where whisky itself is duty-free and there seem to be more local distilleries than gristmills. Grogâs a penny a cup at every wayside shebeen.â
âA fair question,â Child said, nodding towards Hatch. âBut these smugglers are âimportingâ high-quality spirits and wines: rum from the West Indies, bourbon from the Carolinas, Bordeaux and Champagne from France, port from Iberiaâand all of it, you can be sure, pirated or hijacked at some point along the way. They peddle it only around the garrison townsâKingston, Toronto, London, Sandwich, Newarkâto establishments that cater to a higher class of citizenry and that, in addition to cut-price vintage spirits, offer the further comfort of a warm bed and willing flesh.â The squire, long a widower, shook his head sorrowfully, as a man who has seen much folly and never quite accustomed himself to it.
âBut that means tuns, barrels, packing cases,â Marc said.
âOh, the peddlers donât do the actual smuggling,â Hatch said. âTheyâre just petty advance men, order-takers, messengers, and the like. Peddling door to door is a perfect cover for the work. The county is crawling with them, summer and winter.â
âErastus and I apprehended one of the blackguards a while back,â Child said. âWhat was his name now?â
âIsaac Duffy,â Hatch said, and his face lit up with pleasure at the memory. âCaught him trying to sell a bottle of His Majestyâs finest sherry to Emma Durfee, an item heâd most likely pilfered from some smugglerâs drop he knew about.â
âHeâs in irons down in Kingston,â Child said, âbut before we shipped him off, he gave us a lead to two scoundrels in the area weâd long suspected of actually hauling the stuff across the lake on the ice.â
âJefferson and Nathaniel Boyle,â Hatch said. âBrothers who operated two so-called farms out past Mad Annieâs swamp.â
âHatch and I hopped on our horses and rode right out there like a pair of avenging angels.â Child laughed, and Marc did too, at the image of Magistrate Childâs two hundred and fifty pounds of pampered flesh astride and agallop.
âWithout a sheriff or constables?â Marc asked above Hatchâs chortling.
âIâd been after them Yankee cattle thieves for years,â Child said with sudden vehemence. âI had a pistol tucked in each side of my waistcoat, and Hatch here had his fowlingpiece. My God, I can still remember every moment of that ride.â
âBy the time we got there,â Hatch said, âtheyâd already skedaddled, as they say in the Republic.â
âThose sewer rats can smell authority a mile away.â The squire sighed. âI hate smugglers of every stripe. They undermine the fragile economy here, flout the Kingâs law, and offer incentives to others to do the same. And when theyâre Yankees to boot, I detest them as much as I do a traitor or a turncoat.â
âAll we found were two abandoned wives, just skin and bone, and a dozen half-starved youngsters,â Hatch said sadly.
âWell, they havenât been seen since,â Child said with some satisfaction.
âAnd when I took Winnifred out there with some food and clothes at Christmas,â Hatch said, âthe women and children had packed up and gone. The whole lot of âem.â
Marc had witnessed the effects of grinding poverty on the streets of London and never become inured to it, or to the callow disregard shown towards its victims by the prosperous and the morally blinkered. The thought of Winnifredâs charity warmed him in ways the brandy, cigars, and stimulating company had failed to.
Philander Child wished Marc well in his efforts on Sir Johnâs behalf, complimented him on his good
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