Free Jack Frake by Edward Cline

afternoon he wandered through the town he had not had time to explore. He watched the soldiers drill on a field, and exchanged wary glances with the drummer boy. He saw other children filing into the church for schooling. He stopped beneath the window of one of Gwynnford’s more prosperous-looking houses when he heard a forte-piano being played, and listened to a melody that fascinated him with the pure harmony of its contemplative logic. He went into the shops and saw a dazzling assortment of things for sale. He watched lighters loaded with bundles and crates ply between the anchored merchantmen and the embankment, taking from one pile for the trip out, and adding to another from the trip back. And far out on the horizon he saw a warship, its great red ensign and pennants broadcasting its approach. Jack Frake turned and squinted to read the names on the sterns of the merchantmen. None were named
Sparrowhawk
.
    And on his way back to the Sea Siren, he had an idea of what he could do for Parson Parmley.

Chapter 7: The Impostor
    H IRAM T ROTT SOON REGRETTED HAVING GIVEN HIS SCULLION A FEW hours’ leisure, for half an hour after the boy left, business increased threefold and his cook and his offspring could barely keep up with it. The crews of two of the anchored merchantmen had finished their shipping and unshipping chores and had been released for shore time. Three carriages of gentlemen and ladies on a tour of the coast had stopped in town; he had to send Clarissa for some sheets to spread over their tables, for the gentlemen refused to allow their companions to soil their elbows on the stained planks. The paymaster of the Midlands regiment had arrived, and so more soldiers were filling up his tables. Henoch Pannell had gathered his men from the other inns and sat with them at one large table for dinner.
    And then a tidesman had rushed in an hour ago and whispered to him the news that a battleship had been sighted and appeared to be making straight for Gwynnford. This news made Trott jittery. It could mean extra business; or it could mean press-gangs.
    Jack Frake, when he returned, grinned and tipped his hat to Mr. Blair at his corner table, then ran to the kitchen to remove his hat and coat and don an apron. He had never before seen the Sea Siren so jammed with patrons, but even though every second of his time and attention seemed to be consumed by his job, he managed at some point to stop at Blair’s table.
    “Sir, would you write a note for me?”
    Blair frowned, closed the book he was reading, put it down, and nodded.
    Jack Frake rapidly explained his problem and its solution. Blair listened, and the nature of his frown changed from one of curiosity to one of concern and understanding. “If you’d just write something short, I can give it to the vicar here, tonight, after we’ve closed.”
    Blair smiled and nodded again, but Jack Frake did not think that the man had given him his full attention. His eyes had wandered now and then to glance at other patrons across the room — at Henoch Pannell, and at a tall, older gentleman and his two companions, whose coach-and-four stood just outside the inn’s doors.
    Blair took out his flat brass box and opened it to remove a slip of paper. With his black chalk he wrote:
Come back in ten minutes. Bring a bowl of pudding
. Jack Frake bent and read it.
    “Thank you, sir,” he said, and darted away to resume his duties.
    In ten minutes he returned with the pudding and a new tankard of ale. Blair gave him another slip of paper, which read:
Sir: Isham Leith of Trelowe murdered Parmley. Capt. Venable of the dragoons asked him for directions on the Trelowe road by the old chapel on the 16th. The two men with him were Oyston and Lapworth. May justice be done. Yours, One Who Knows the Truth.
    Jack Frake breathed a sigh of relief. It said more than he had expected it to say. Blair even knew the captain’s name. He smiled in thanks at Blair, then folded the paper up and tucked it