“They’re working late at the smithy.”
“Is there a new smithy?”
“As a matter of fact it’s a very old one. But, of course, it was closed when you were here before. It’s been going about a year now. I’ve got quite accustomed to the sound. In fact it’s company sometimes.”
“But the old smithy was right down near the beach?”
“It’s there still, but it’s not 400 yards in a straight line from here. Our hearing the sound is because it is built over an old passage or tunnel which used to open into the cellar under this room. It is said to connect with an opening in the cliff over the beach. It’s a relic of the old smuggling days. We are rather proud of it.”
“I should say it looks a bit fishy for some of your reverend predecessors.”
“Fortunately for the credit of the Church this was not always the vicarage. I believe it was the Dower-house of the Manor, and very likely some dear old dowagers eked out their jointures by a little ‘free-trading.’ Shall we have coffee in the study?”
“Wait a bit,” said Edmund, “I’m rather fascinated by this noise. I suppose you have explored the passage?”
“No. I’ve opened the old door in the cellar and gone down the steps leading into it. But I hate underground places. I fear I suffer from what the doctors call claustro-phobia.”
“Is that cob-webs?”