Page 101 of A Winter By the Sea
“What is the Freedom of the City?”
“A mark of gratitude from the city of London. The certificate was presented in a gold box of exquisite workmanship.”
“Goodness,” Sarah breathed. “His Royal Highness must indeed trust you.”
His head jerked up at that, his gaze almost wary. “I suppose so. Although I don’t think he values those awards as he ought. I am sure he would prefer their value in legal tender. He could never sell them, of course, as they are inscribed to him and are too well-known. Although with his financial situation as it is, he would no doubt otherwise be tempted.”
Sarah tucked her chin, taken aback by his words. “I hope that is not true.” She studied Mr. During and added tentatively, “He might be tempted, but I trust he would resist. That his better nature would win out in the end.”
———
Despite the cold and the prospect of a ball that night, they still needed to bring in provisions to feed their guests. So Sarah and Georgie bundled up and walked over the esplanade and past Heffer’s Row to visit their favorite family of fishermen. Chips ran alongside.
Mr. Cordey sat cleaning fish near his humble cottage. Sarah saw his sons, Punch and Tom, down the beach, dragging one of their boats to shore.
“Good day. How was the fishing this morning?” she asked.
“Slow. Caught some herrings and a few cod. Not large, mind, but still good eatin’.”
“I am sure they will be.” Sarah selected enough fish for dinner, and Mr. Cordey placed them in her basket.
Mr. Cordey opened his mouth to speak, then with a glance at Georgiana, shut it again. He looked toward the cottage’s small window, where Bibi stood bent over the stove. “Why not go in and see how ’er crab soup’s comin’ along?”
Georgie followed his gaze and returned Bibi’s wave. “Happily. I’ll lend her a hand.”
When Georgie had loped away, Chips wandered off as well.
The older man returned his gaze to Sarah. “Bibi said ’ee was askin’ ’bout Abraham Mutter. That right?”
Sarah nodded. Keeping her tone casual, she said, “I saw one of our guests deep in conversation with the man, which made me curious. I wondered what the two could have to talk about.”
Mr. Cordey frowned, which deepened the sunbaked lines around his eyes and mouth. “Fellow called During?”
Sarah looked at him in surprise. “I suppose Bibi mentioned his name?”
He shook his head. “Heard an incomer been loiterin’ in the Old Ship Inn, chatting with the salts who frequent the place, and askin’ questions.”
Mr. During had returned to Sea View smelling of fried fish and ale more than once, although never visibly intoxicated.
“What sort of questions?”
“Don’t like castin’ suspicion on a fellow I never met, but as he’s stayin’ with ’ee, I think I better do.” He worked his jaw a moment, then said, “He asked how a fellow might go ’bout selling somethin’, quiet-like.”
“Selling what?”
“Don’t know. Don’t wanna know.”
What did Mr. During want to sell? Sarah wondered. Surely not something from the plate chest—at least she prayed not. If he were trying to sell something valuable, a few old fishermen would be unlikely buyers.
She said, “I don’t understand.”
Mr. Cordey looked behind himself, then lowered his voice. “The Old Ship is a favorite haunt of free traders.”
Sarah frowned in confusion. “Free traders?”
“Smugglers.”
Her mouth fell ajar. “Oh.”
