A Kiss in the Dark

by Joan Smith

  “In the middle of the night, wearing a mask?” Beau added with a disbelieving eye.

  “If he is supposed to be in Bath, then he wouldn’t want to be recognized in case the Dauntrys learned he is here. I believe his lordship had a bit of a falling-out with his cousin and sent him to Bath for a spell.”

  It was clear they were to get no more information out of this accomplished liar. She was dismissed, and Cressida and Beau just sighed.

  “We’ll never know,” Beau said. “That woman can lie faster than a dog shakes his tail. She ought to be in Parliament.”

  “I think she was telling the truth about Melbury being in the neighborhood. We caught her off guard, and she accidentally blurted out the truth.”

  “But she was lying about the dresser set and about our intruder being Melbury,” Beau said. “She wore her shifty look when she said it.”

  “Odd she would put the blame on him, as he is such a favorite. She tried to dilute his guilt by that story about the heirloom. She must be protecting someone she likes even better than Melbury. Who could it be?”

  “Dauntry?” Beau suggested. “The size was about right.”

  “No, he is a little taller. He would not come into my bedchamber, Beau. If there were anything here he wanted, he could have got it before we came. I cannot believe he was after my jewelry. No, I don’t believe it was Dauntry at all.”

  “If it wasn’t Dauntry, and it wasn’t Melbury, then who was it? Allan Brewster?”

  Neither of them believed this unexceptionable gentleman had suddenly turned into a ken smasher.

  “It must have been a tramp,” Cressida said.

  “A tramp who knew his way about the house very well,” Beau said disbelievingly.

  “Well, a local tramp,” she said.

  They left it at that, although they both felt in their bones this was not the answer.

  Miss Wantage still had to be informed of the story and pacified before they could retire for what remained of the night. She insisted on having Jennet hauled from her bed. A truckle bed was brought from the servants’ quarters for Jennet, who spent the hours until daylight inside Miss Wantage’s locked door in case the villain came back. It was either that, or Miss Wantage would bunk in with Cressida, who was in no mood to accommodate her after such a harrowing night.

  Of course, her precautions were unnecessary. Their caller did not return. As Beau said to Cressida just before yawning his way off to his room, “Pity he hadn’t gone into her room. One look at Wantage and the fellow would not show his nose around here again. The fact of the matter is, she is jealous as a green cow that you were the one he chose.” None of which was much consolation to Cressida.

  One other suspect occurred to her as she lay in bed, staring at the door. The desk she had pushed in front of it to ward off interlopers formed a dark rectangle against the white square of door. The intruder could have been the Frenchman who was talking to Dauntry at the cottage. Thus far, she had not revealed to Dauntry that she had seen him there the night of her attack. She sat straight up in bed as another idea occurred to her. He might have been looking for it, the mysterious elle they had spoken of! It was time to reveal all, and demand that Dauntry do the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  After such a restless night, Cressida slept until nine the next morning. Sunlight streamed in at the window, gilding the rich mahogany of the furnishings and making a mockery of the desk barring the door. It seemed impossible that a strange man had found his way into this civilized sanctuary the night before. She had learned that sunlight, on the coast, did not necessarily mean a warm day. Much depended on the direction and force of the wind. The swaying treetops told her the wind was from the sea, and thus cool. She wore a serge suit, for she meant to go out that morning to do some investigating regarding the intruder.

  First she would call at the castle and tell Dauntry of the break-in. She was also curious to spy on the cottage to see if it was being prepared for the arrival of Amarylla. “Perhaps I shall not have her here,” Dauntry had said, which was not the same as saying “I shall not have her.” A trip to Beachy Head was on the agenda as well, to see if there were any strange men in the village. When she went into the hallway, she saw Miss Wantage speaking to a man at the door of her room. The man wore a fustian jacket and spoke in colloquial accents.

  Miss Wantage spotted Cressida and said, “I do not know what precautions you plan to take to prevent farther assaults, my dear, but I had Muffet send off at first light for the locksmith to install a new lock on my door, and I suggest that you do the same. I have just been discussing the matter of the windows with Crump.”

  Crump lifted an imaginary hat and ducked his head in the direction of Lady deCourcy.

  “Short of installing bars, Crump sees no way of ensuring our safety, for as he so rightly points out, any child can smash a pane of glass and climb in,” Miss Wantage continued.

  “That is out of the question, Miss Wantage,” Cressida said. “The house does not belong to me. Quite apart from the expense, I cannot turn Lady Dauntry’s house into a fortress.”

  “She can hardly refuse permission, when we have been assaulted in our beds.”

  “We were not assaulted in our beds!” Cressida exclaimed. What was the woman thinking of, to send such wicked gossip through the village? Crump was listening with his ears stretched. “He was not in your room at all.”

  “He most certainly was! I told you last night I had heard something. A low, fiendish laugh. This morning I found dirt on the carpet, from his feet.”

  “From the truckle bed you had brought down from the attic, more likely. Really, Miss Wantage, all this is not necessary. There is no point even asking to have the windows barred. Dauntry would think we had run mad.”

  Miss Wantage drew her ears back like an angry mare. “Some ladies might enjoy being assaulted by strange men. For myself, if you cannot ensure my safety, I am very much afraid I shall have to return to Bath.”

  “I should be very sorry to lose you. I hope you will reconsider,” Cressida said, and left before she said what she really thought. Hurray! Go—go back to Bath, go to Timbuktu for all I care.

  She was surprised to find Beau still at the table, gazing out the window and holding a cup of coffee.

  “You slept in as well, I see,” she said, taking up a plate to help herself from the sideboard.

  “I have been up since seven. Nick says the wind is too high to take the Sea Dog out, but he thinks it is lessening, and we can go out this afternoon.”

  Cressida sat down and attacked her gammon and eggs. She told him of Miss Wantage’s latest folly. “She threatens to leave!”

  “Shall I run over to Beachy Head and hire a band, to celebrate?”

  “It would be no tragedy, but I would have to find someone to replace her. Perhaps Lady Dauntry can suggest some local lady.”

  “Save your breath. You could not drive Wantage off with a herd of wild horses. She sticks like a burr. Oh, by the bye, I was over at the cottage.”

  “Is there anything afoot there?” Cressida asked.

  “Dauntry’s lightskirt has arrived. I got a peek at her at the upstairs window.”

  Cressida’s shoulders stiffened. She jabbed a fork angrily into a piece of gammon to release her temper. “I see. Was Dauntry there to welcome her?”

  “There was no one else that I could see. No movement downstairs, but of course, I only watched from outside.”

  “Perhaps he was in the bedchamber with her.”

  “Very likely. She’s dashed pretty. I always liked those blondes.”

  Cressida tossed her raven curls. “Yes, they seem to be in vogue this year.” Then she frowned. “Blond, did you say?”

  “Yes, she had her hair out loose. She looked like a princess from a fairy tale.”

  “But Amarylla is a brunette! She is supposed to be his chère amie’’

  “Really? Then he must be importing a harem, for the stunner I saw was a blonde, and no mistake about it
. She was brushing out her hair. She leapt away from the window when she saw me, as if she were trying to hide. Odd way for a lightskirt to behave. They ain’t usually shy of flaunting their charms.”

  Cressida soon made sense of it. He did not want her to see his bit of muslin. “Dauntry had ordered her to lie low, I expect. He passes for a man of character.”

  “Then why bring her here? There are no secrets in a place like this. I am going up to the castle now to inform Dauntry of our break-in. I was just waiting a bit to see if you would care to go with me.”

  Cressida was so furious, she would not have asked Dauntry for help if the house had been burning down around her. “You go ahead, Beau. Very likely he is not home. Try the cottage,”

  “If he ain’t home, I’ll leave word for him to call. Not the thing to go knocking on his door when he is with his woman. He would think me a regular Johnny Flat. I’m off, then, if you think you’re safe here without me.”

  "The man won’t come back in broad daylight.”

  “I was speaking of Wantage,” he said, and left.

  Cressida pushed her breakfast aside. She was just sipping at her coffee when Muffet showed Dauntry into the morning parlor.

  Icicles hung on her curt greeting. “Good morning, Lord Dauntry.” He bowed and returned the greeting. She decided to behave as though she cared nothing for his lechery. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Thank you,” he said, taking up a chair across the table. “I hope it is hot. There seems to be a chill in the air this morning.” He directed a questioning look at her.

  “Yes,” she replied, pretending to misunderstand him. “Beau mentioned the wind is high.” She poured the coffee and handed it to him. “You got here very quickly. Beau must have met you on his way to the castle.”

  “Beau? I have not seen him. I was at the cottage.”

  “I see,” she said in a thin voice.

  He assumed her anger was at his not allowing her to move into the cottage. “Someone has been there,” he said.

  “Has been?” she asked, startled. “Do you mean she has left already?”

  “She? Why do you assume it was a woman?”

  “Beau saw her.”

  “Did he, by God! What did she look like?”

  “Blond. Like a princess from a fairy tale. He did not really get much of a look at her. Beau was just passing by this morning. Are you saying you don’t know who the woman is?”

  “I haven’t the least notion.”

  “One of Amarylla’s friends, perhaps?” she suggested with a sapient look.

  “Amarylla will not be coming,” he said, lowering his brow. “I tried to tell you last night. The reason I am here is to see if you had any trouble from the person who had broken into the cottage. The door had been forced open.”

  “If you can call sneaking right into my bedchamber in the middle of the night trouble, then I suppose I had, but it was no blond lady. It was a man.”

  Dauntry’s cup hit the saucer with considerable force. He stared at her in disbelief. “What? A man right in your bedchamber? Are you all right?”

  She basked in pleasure to see his consternation. “I seem to have survived,” she said, looking down to ensure that she was all there and in good shape. “In future, however, I do wish you would tell your French friend that in England it is the custom to knock on a lady’s door before barging in.”

  Dauntry lifted his cup and took a slow sip of coffee. He set the cup down, gazing at Cressida all the while. “So you were awake that night. I had hoped—”

  “Hoped that you had put me hors de combat with that blanket? Sorry to disoblige you, but I overheard it all.”

  “You have good ears.” His lips stretched in a teasing smile. “And very soft lips, mam’selle. Or so my—er, French friend tells me. It was he who wrapped you in the blanket, by the bye.”

  Cressida studied his expression, trying to gauge his meaning. Which one of them had kissed her? Dauntry was enjoying this charade. She decided to play along. “You may tell your French friend that he also has delightful lips. But he still should knock before entering—and he should also ask permission before taking advantage of a lady.”

  “I shall inform him you approve of his lechery but object to his lack of manners. As to the break-in here, however, it was not my French friend. He was at my own house last night. Knowing his French way with the ladies, I felt he—and you—were safer with him there.”

  After a pausing frown, she replied, “But if the intruder was not your French friend, and he was not Melbury—Actually, Tory says Melbury is in the neighborhood.”

  “Tory lies.”

  “I know, but I think she was telling the truth about Melbury. I don’t suppose his aunt Annie left him a silver dresser set, which he left here for safekeeping?”

  “She left him a few trinkets, all of which he promptly sold. Melbury is a young fool, but he would not risk my displeasure by invading a house Mama had leased to a noble lady. He prefers to keep his crimes within the family and close circle of friends, who are not likely to have him locked up, you see. I have known him forever. He is crooked as a dog’s hind leg, but he don’t prey on strangers. Not in that fashion, at least. He might charm a trinket out of a lady, but he would not steal it. Your caller was not Melbury.”

  “Then who was he?”

  “Are you quite certain there was a man there? I had a spinster aunt who was used to imagine something of the sort.”

  Her nostrils pinched dangerously. “I do not imagine men in my room. Beau did not imagine the bump on his head. Nor did Miss Wantage imagine that she heard him in her room. Well, actually, I think she did imagine it. I do not for one moment believe that fiendish laugh, but Beau did not imagine having his head banged on the floor. And you must tell her she cannot put bars on her window, Dauntry. It is really the outside of enough.”

  Dauntry cupped his chin in his hand and studied her. She looked remarkably like an angry kitten. “Are you sure it was Beau whose head was knocked on the floor?”

  “Miss Wantage has the local locksmith in her bedroom this very minute.”

  “Shame on her—and you. I am shocked that you permit such carrying-on, milady. If Wantage is feeling lonesome, she might at least hang out for a gentleman.”

  “Oh, you are too provoking! It is not funny.”

  “I do not take the matter lightly, Cressida,” he said, gazing at her with the residue of a smile. “I shall speak to the local constable and personally take every precaution—short of installing bars on the windows—to ensure your safety. A couple of footmen will patrol the house tonight, for starters.”

  “But what does the man want? Is it the letter?”

  At her words, Dauntry’s face froze into a perfect mask of innocence. “Letter? What letter is that?” he asked in a wooden voice.

  “The one you were looking for at the cottage, of course. Why should he think it is here, when it was, presumably, supposed to be at the cottage?”

  Dauntry rose and drew a chair closer to hers. “As you know nine-tenths of the story, I might as well tell you the rest. You will have observed that my cove here offers the best landing facilities for a ship.”

  “Dauntry, pray do not tell me you are a common smuggler!”

  “Ships from France bring things other than brandy and silk. Sometimes they bring certain messages—vous comprenez?”

  “Letters regarding the doings of Boney’s army?”

  “More or less. Those letters are left at the cottage. I cannot always be there in person to receive them. If the revenuemen caught me consorting with smugglers, it would look bad for all Whigs. It is because of the letters that I could not let you have the cottage.”

  “You might have had them left at the dower house,” she said, adopting a moue.

  “I might, but we let various relatives use this place in the summer. If you were not here, then Cousin Jerome and his family, or Aunt Lydia, or someone would expect to use it. The cottage was safer. There was a
shipment of brandy landed earlier this week. I was eagerly awaiting the letter that was to come with it. An associate tells me the letter was delivered to the cottage, but it was not found in its customary place. I have scoured the house from top to bottom without finding it.”

  “You think someone took it, someone who might use it against us?”

  “That is one possibility, although the letters are always in code. No, my major concern is that someone who has no notion of its importance has picked it up. I want to find the letter. The Foreign Office is most eager to get it.”

  “I see. But it was not you who sent a man here last night to search for it?”

  “Certainly not. I have no reason to think it is here. My information is that it was left at the cottage. One of the English fellows who lands the cargo gets the letters from one of the French sailors. My man took it to the cottage, as usual.”

  “Where does he leave it in the cottage?”

  “Inside the Bible that is always in the parlor. The Bible is there, in its usual place. The letter is not.”

  “You think the blond woman was looking for it?”

  “I don’t see how she could be aware of its existence. My go-between is marble constant. He has two sons in Wellington’s army. No, I think the woman is just an itinerant who saw an empty house and sought a night’s free lodging.”

  “Well, I am very sorry about your letter, Dauntry. It seems it cannot be connected with my intruder after all.”

  “I can do nothing more about the letter except keep looking. Your intruder is another matter. For the meanwhile, it might be best if you and your party remove to the castle.”

  Cressida considered the offer but finally declined it. “Thank you, but we have been enough trouble already. With a couple of footmen to keep guard, we shall be safe here. Beau felt the man was not really vicious. He did not bang his head as hard on the floor as he might have.”

  Dauntry stared. “Very civil of him, I’m sure. More important, did he touch you?”

  “No, my charms proved no temptation at all. It was very dark,” she added when his lips moved uncertainly. “He ran like a rabbit when I screamed. He seemed to know his way about the house. It was pitch-black in the corridor, but he ran straight for the backstairs and out the kitchen door.”