The Redemption of Sir Edward Denham - A Return to Sanditon Novella

Nine

Dunkerque, France

More waiting. Edward was huddled behind a consignment of cargo; barrels and crates piled high and covered with oilskin. Last night, this had seemed an excellent idea – await the departure of the men, steel into their rooms and hunt down anything that may help them identify the nature of their threat. However, here, under the cloak of darkness; a cold wind whipping his face and numbing his fingers, he scoffed at his earlier enthusiasm. Carlisle was concealed a few feet away, standing as silent as a wraith. Edward marvelled at the level of patience needed for this line of work and the discipline required to achieve it. Shuffling slightly to alleviate the stiffness in his joints, Edward froze as a shaft of light penetrated the dark night. He could just make out the shadowed figures of several men as they made their way out of the building ahead. A voice carried on the air that he recognised instantly as belonging to the talkative Archie. Edward waited until they had passed before motioning to Carlisle that these were indeed their quarry.

Carlisle inched closer, keeping to the shadows. "I counted four men. Do you recall how many you saw last evening?" He asked in a whisper.

"I spoke to two of them, but there were four others ... I think." Edward spoke as the door to the Auberge opened once more. Another two men exited the inn and strolled in the same direction as the others.

"So, all accounted for ... probably." Carlisle cursed. "Let's hope you're right. We will have to take our chances."

The Auberge Du Mar was a quiet inn and seemed to be respectable enough. Leaving the shadowy cover of the dockside, they stealthily made their way to the whitewashed building which boasted sash windows and a canopied entrance. There was no sound of inhabitants; the building stood eerily silent. Sam slowly turned the handle to the front door, and as it opened soundlessly, he cautiously looked inside. Noting the empty entrance hall, he spotted a wooden desk he assumed was used by the inn's proprietor. Motioning to Edward to follow, he carefully made his way across the space and spotted a ledger that had been left open on the side. Behind the desk, he saw a row of seven hooks designed to hold room keys. All but one were missing. He quickly scanned the open pages of the ledger and could see that all rooms had been taken, although one man appeared to have departed earlier that day. So, he mused, all of their assailants were indeed accounted for. That would make things simpler, provided the innkeeper didn't catch them, of course.

Moving to the staircase, Edward close on his heels, he made his way up to the next level. Sam quickly scanned the room numbers and moved along until he arrived at the fourth door. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his trusted lock pick and made quick work of the door.

"Why this room?" Whispered Edward.

Sam motioned for him to be silent before opening the door to what seemed, in the gloom, to be a modest bedchamber. Under his breath, he instructed Edward to guard the door and alert him to any sounds. "The ledger: this room was assigned to Denning. I thought it prudent to start the search here. If we find nothing, Jenkins is just next door." He explained quietly.

Sam systematically searched the room and contents and found nothing to suggest the occupant was anything other than a common traveller. With one last look around, he motioned for Edward to open the door. They made their way to Jenkin's room, and he began his search again.

Starting with the sideboard and bedside table, once more it seemed as though there was nothing to be found, but Sam was nothing if not meticulous in his search. He finally moved to the armoire and began to work his way through the contents of an old battered valise that had been stored there. His hand caught on the bindings of a book of some sort, and as Sam pulled it out of the bag, papers kept loosely between the leaves of what appeared to be a journal, spilt out onto the floor. Carefully lighting the small stub of a candle he carried for jobs such as these, he scanned the documents to find they were bills of sale from several merchants, including a number from black powder manufacturers. Relieved to have found something, he gathered the journal and papers and snubbed out the candle, tucking the documents into the pocket of his greatcoat, he was just about to instruct Edward to leave the room when they both heard the sound of voices coming from downstairs.

"Ah, monsieur, I hope you have had a pleasant evening. Please let me know if there is anything else you need. Bon Nuit." An obsequious voice sounded through the halls.

"Merci, Madam. All is grand, thank you. Good night," came the response spoken in a rough midlands' dialect.

"Blast!" Exclaimed Edward. "I know that voice – it's Jenkins! We need to get out of here now." He looked around the room in alarm.

Carlisle, still outwardly calm, reached for the door and opened it a fraction. He could hear the man's heavy footfalls heading towards the staircase, and quietly closed the door once more. He surveyed the room and made for the sash window. Opening it as quietly as he could manage, he quickly scanned the terrain below, he urgently beckoned Edward, "Out. Now!"

Rushing forward, Edward was half out the window before he noted the drop of about ten foot onto what, he presumed, was the roof of an outhouse. As the sounds grew louder in the hallway, he let go and landed in a heap. He moved himself just in time as Carlisle followed in short order. They quickly lowered themselves from the roof to the ground and set off at a run. Risking a final look behind them, they noted a dark thickset figure framed by the window they had just moments ago escaped from. He stood motionless; silently watching their retreat.

"That was a close call!" Gasped Edward as they ran through the streets.

"Too close. Our cover is well and truly blown. The reformists now know they have been discovered and that means we must leave here immediately." Carlisle replied gravely.