Memoirs of a Hoyden

by Joan Smith

Kestrel was no enemy to smugglers, so long as they confined their business to smuggling. He dismissed the ringleader with a warning. “I’ll be on the lookout for you. If you show your nose near here again, be pre­pared to have it blown off.”

  “Monsieur is most generous. He will be remembered in my prayers. Many thanks to the kind lady.” An echo of praise for the kind gentleman and the generous lady trailed behind him as the smuggler disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

  “Are you all right, Marion?” Kestrel asked. I rather think that had we been alone, he might have done more than ask. Even with Ronald present, he drew me into his arms and turned my face up to examine a bruise on my cheek with tender interest.

  “All tattered and torn, but very much alive,” I as­sured him.

  “You were magnificent,” he said. The tone was one of surprised admiration, and the voice was husky.

  I reluctantly detached myself from his arms and said, “When pushed to the wall, one must do something. Now, what shall we do about this carcass?” I asked, and went to examine Kemp.

  I pulled back his cape and other clothing to examine his wound. The presence of a considerable quantity of blood made it appear worse than it was. His layers of clothing had cushioned the dagger’s force, so that his wound was not very deep. He wasn’t even unconscious, but he was in a sullen mood and didn’t say much.

  “Does anyone have a clean handkerchief?” I asked.

  Ronald’s was produced. There was little to be done on a cliffside, so I merely covered the wound with the clean cloth and ripped another strip from my skirt to hold it in place till we could get him to a doctor.

  “It will be hard to get a wounded man up that sheer cliff,” I pointed out. I wasn’t looking forward to getting myself up it, to tell the truth.

  “Cliff?” Ronald asked. “Why, there’s a staircase cut into the wall about a quarter of a mile farther along. Don’t tell me you climbed down that cliff?”

  I was filled with chagrin to consider the unnecessary hardship I had undergone. Kestrel and Ronald exam­ined the cliffside, which certainly looked unclimbable from below, exchanging incredulous shakes of their heads at my folly. “I didn’t know there was a stair­case,” I said nonchalantly.

  “It’s a miracle you weren’t killed,” Kestrel scolded.

  “It’s a miracle we all weren’t killed. How did you two come to let Kemp get between you? When I saw him sneaking up on you, Kestrel, I decided I’d best come down and help you. Unfortunately, I slipped on the stones. These kid slippers weren’t made for moun­tain climbing.”

  It was Ronald who answered. “We couldn’t find Kemp, but Nick knew the spot where the smugglers landed, and we knew he must be lurking somewhere nearby. He suggested I climb up here and keep a look­out while he walked along the beach, trying to draw him out of hiding. While Nick was farther along the beach, Kemp came climbing up and stationed himself in front of me. I couldn’t very well warn Nick when he came back without giving myself away, so Nick just called me a few times, and when I couldn’t answer, he hid himself behind a rock, and we both watched and waited.

  “You might have had the sense to shoot Kemp when you saw him starting to climb up!” I exclaimed.

  “No, Nick wanted to take him alive, to question him, you know, and find out if anyone else is in this game with him. I just waited, ready to jump into action at the first sign of trouble.”

  “You didn’t figure my falling into Kemp’s hands was trouble?” I asked.

  “Well, of course, but by the time I worked my way forward, he was already hiding behind your skirts. There wasn’t much I could do then, with you in the way.’’

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Kestrel said. “We’ve got to get Kemp out of here. We need a litter. Would you mind going to Longville Manor for help, Ron?”

  “I think we can handle him, between the three of us,” Ronald countered.

  I looked at Kemp—not a small man—and I consid­ered the distance to the manor. “Think again. Go for help, Ronald.”

  “Well, come on then,” he said, waiting for me to join him.

  “I’ll stay here, in case Kemp worsens. Bring a doctor if you can rouse one.’’ With a grumble of protest at always having to be the errand boy, Ronald left.

  It was not solely solicitude for that rogue, Kemp, that decided me to remain behind with Kestrel. I had sensed a warmth in his regard earlier on, and thought privacy might increase it. When he took my arm and led me a little away from Kemp, I assumed he meant to assure himself I was unharmed, and compliment me on my valor.

  Imagine my astonishment when the first words he uttered, and in a pretty rough voice, too, were “I hope this night has taught you the folly of forcing your way into matters that don’t concern you. You might have been killed, and got us all killed.”

  It knocked the wind out of me. For thirty seconds I was speechless. By the time I found my tongue, my temper had flared higher than Kestrel’s. “I might have, but I decided to save your worthless life instead! Is this the thanks I get? I’d like to know where you’d be now if I hadn’t handled Kemp for you!’’

  “I would have shaken the truth out of Nel, and ar­rested Kemp hours ago.”

  “How did you know about Nel?”

  “I saw her go into the library, all dressed for travel­ing in the middle of the night. I knew Sir Herbert wasn’t a traitor, and when I learned he was pressuring her to marry Harcourt, I began to suspect the ninny had done something idiotic. I was watching her. I was about to catch her when I heard you moaning, and had to see what muddle you’d gotten yourself into. She got away from me and of course flew straight to Kemp with the letter. I wasn’t sure who her contact was at that time, though of course I suspected Kemp. He fills all my criteria for a spy—penniless, no character. Once Nel was away from me, I had no choice but to come here and see who turned the letter over to the Frenchies.”

  This didn’t seem the auspicious moment to straighten him out on a few details. Instead, I attacked him for his laggardly way of conducting himself under fire. “You didn’t even know Kemp was behind you with a pistol at your back. Why do you think I was hurrying down, and lost my footing and fell?”

  “Yes, fell right into his hands! That was a marvelous help!”

  “More help than you! Who stopped him from killing us all? Tell me that!”

  “I could hardly leap at him when he had a pistol at your head. By God, I’m beginning to wish I had. It would take more than a pistol shot to get through that thick skull of yours.”

  My temper flared out of control. I had put myself in jeopardy for this cretin whose idea of gratitude was in­sults. I raised my hand and delivered a resounding smack across his cheek. A stunned expression flittered across his face as his head whipped aside with the force of the blow. From the shadows beyond, Kemp let out a chuckle of approval. “I promise you I will not interfere in your bungling efforts to save England again, sir.”

  I lifted my head and made to stalk off. Before I took a step, Kestrel’s hands came out and grabbed my arms. “That’s exactly the behavior I’ve come to expect from you. You have no manners, no sense, no dignity. Your idea of gentility is puffing yourself off, claiming credit for accomplishments not your own.”

  “My accomplishments are my own, whatever you may have weaseled out of Ronald.”

  “You make yourself ineligible by such actions as you’ve undertaken tonight. You might have ended up on that lugger, dragged to France as the hostage of those smugglers.”

  “They would hardly be less amusing than the com­pany I find myself in at the moment. As to eligibility, marriage is of no interest whatsoever to me. I wouldn’t accept an offer from anyone I’ve met in England thus far. If a gentleman is so sensitive to public opinion he balks at my behavior, then let him keep his distance.” This last speech was said through clenched teeth, in a tone that told my listener what gentleman I spoke of.

  “Marion, you’re impossible!” he howled.

  “My name is Miss M
athieson, and you, sir, are a sheep. Follow the herd, and have nothing to do with such untamed wildlife as I. I will not be dictated to by—”

  A blaze of frustration flared over Kestrel’s hawkish features. He less resembled a sheep than a wolf as he pulled me into his arms for my second passionate em­brace that evening. The kiss started where Kemp’s had left off, with the quivering at the base of the skull and the trembling down the spine. From there it flamed into a primitive battle, to see which of us could outdo the other in ardor. I wasn’t going to be bested in anything by this man, including passion.

  As his arms crushed me mercilessly against his chest, I wrapped mine around his waist and squeezed till he was gasping. Every atom of my body participated in the struggle. I responded from the tip of my head to the ends of my toes, especially in the area of lungs and what we gen­teelly call stomach, but mean our entire inner torso, which felt as though it were afire. I hadn’t been so ex­hilarated since the night I was chased down a mountain by a band of Arabs, intent, I believe, on something similar to what Kestrel seemed to have in mind at the moment. The kiss was beginning to run a little out of control on both our sides. I pulled roughly away and sniffed.

  He was still scowling, and so was I. “Just the sort of embrace I would expect from a sheep,” I scoffed. “Kemp did much better.” On this taunting speech I turned and marched away toward the rock staircase. The walking was easy here, unlike my treacherous or­deal.

  “Where are you going?” he called.

  “To Longville Manor. I suggest you keep an eye on Kemp. He’s not quite dead. He might overpower you yet.”

  I couldn’t be certain whether the reluctant chuckle came from Kemp or Kestrel. My own gurgle of laughter was much more discreet, a mere ruffle of sound in the throat as I hastened to Longville Manor.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  I met Roland and a couple of footmen hurrying down the drive of Longville Manor on my way back. “Did you send for a sawbones?” I asked.

  “Yes, he’s to meet us at the cliff. Do you want to come along and show him exactly where to go?”

  “No, leave one of the footmen there to show him the way,” I said, and continued on.

  Ronald knew my habit of being in the middle of things, and no doubt found my answer strange. So far as I was concerned, the interesting part of that little spy escapade was over—finis. The final wrapping up of it was for doctors and officials. Let them decide what to do with Kemp. I was in the middle of a much more interesting affair now, one I had no intention of con­ducting without arranging a new toilette.

  I went straight to the kitchen at the Manor and asked for a flagon of wine and a basin of hot water to be delivered to my chamber. The scullery maids were put­ting the last touch of polish on the kitchen. They would have liked to object, I think, till they got a good look at my condition.

  “Lawks a mercy, miss. What happened to you?” one asked.

  “I was walking along the cliff, looking at the ocean, and took a tumble. Is there hot water, or shall I have to wait?”

  There were two kettles heating on the dying embers. Rather than waiting for the girls to build up the fire again, I said I would make do with what they had. I carried the wine, the girls the water, and they followed me upstairs at once to arrange a rather meager bath.

  “Thank you. I suggest you not retire just yet, girls. There will be some commotion at the Manor this eve­ning. A pot of coffee and perhaps some sandwiches would not go amiss.”

  Their eager eyes demanded an explanation. “No doubt Sir Herbert will tell you all about it later,” I said, and closed the door.

  Turning back to my room, I deduced that the Manor had an excellent housekeeper. A nightdress had been laid out for me, and Nel’s borrowed gown hung again on a hanger in the clothespress. I pulled what remained of my torn suit off and tossed it into the wastebasket. The bathwater was barely tepid, but I had often bathed in water cold as ice from a stream. It was the multiple abrasions and contusions covering my body that caused the discomfort. None was serious enough to require bandaging, however. With a borrowed shawl, the scrapes on my arm could be concealed.

  After my bath, I was ready to dress. An evening gown that fit properly would also have been appreciated. Lacking that ele­gance, I did what I could with Nel’s. “What I could” means only arranging the shawl artfully to conceal the loose hang of the gown without bundling myself to re­semble a school dame.

  With careful arranging, a wave of my blond hair was cajoled into tumbling forward, nearly concealing the bruise at the edge of my eye. When all was done, I stood back and examined this stranger in my mirror. I looked intimidating, even to myself. I was too tall, too haughty, too unfeminine. Where Nel’s body bulged, mine only curved, and where hers curved, mine was as flat as a ruler. I drank the wine and considered means of changing my appearance. I lowered the scarf, but a collarbone was hardly likely to throw a gentleman into raptures.

  I looked to the bottom of my reticule, where a lady keeps her most closely guarded secrets. There, done up in a moleskin bag, hiding beneath my headache pow­ders, were my last hopes: a small pot of rouge and a stick of kohl purchased in Constantinople. I discreetly applied the rouge, and very carefully edged my eyes with the stick of black kohl. Ladies of a certain class put it on with a trowel in the east, but I wanted only a touch so light as to resemble the hand of nature. Care­fully applied, it enlarges and enhances the appearance of the eyes. When I was finished, I was not elated with the result, but satisfied.

  Over another glass of wine, I began planning my strategy. Being the person responsible for Miss Longville’s downfall would not endear me to her father, nor to his neighbor and coworker, Lord Kestrel. In fact, the whole country would see me as an ogre, persecuting an innocent young lady, if the two of us had to appear in the witness stand. I had to determine how deeply she was involved in this spying business and, if possible, arrange matters so that Sir Herbert meted out her pun­ishment privately. Locking her up in a convent seemed a fitter punishment than hanging. My hope was that she was Bernard Kemp’s pawn, no more.

  I went tapping on her door, and found her wide awake, dressed and reading a novel. What she held in her hands, in fact, was the first adventure of Aurelia Altmire, and very pleased she was with it, too. She could hardly put it down when I entered.

  “Did you give Bernard my letter?” she asked.

  “Yes, I unwittingly delivered the plans you contrived to steal from the courier, Miss Longville,” I said coolly.

  He mouth fell open and a frown pleated her white brow. “What?” If she was acting, she ought to be on the boards. I could have sworn she didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “What was in that scented satin bundle was plans destined for a colonel at Dover. They were stolen from the courier who was delivering them from London, to transport to Napoleon. What you have done is treason. Do you know the punishment for treason, Miss Longville? Hanging!”

  I was as harsh as could be, to make her realize the seriousness of what she had done, inten­tionally or not. “Hanging for yourself, to say nothing of the shame brought down on your poor fa­ther’s head. The name of Longville will be infamous throughout the length and breadth of the land.”

  Her lips trembled, and a tear started in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Bernard said it was only a letter from his smuggling partner, telling him what time to have his men at the beach! I’ve often done it before.”

  “Bernard Kemp is a liar and a traitor. How does he arrange for you to get hold of the letters?”

  “A man delivers them to me here at the Manor. I always come home on the weekend—that’s when Ber­nard has time free from work to visit me. Bernard can’t have the letters delivered to him, because he’s watched by the customs men. When they see him come here, they think he’s only courting me.”

  “Courting you!” I scoffed. “Using you, you simple­ton!” My words were harsh, but I was vastly relieved to know her invo
lvement was relatively innocent. I felt there was more to it than just delivering the letters, however. Kestrel had indicated the spies knew when the letters would be delivered. “Does Bernard ask you questions about your father’s work?”

  “Of course he does. Bernard’s not a spy. He’s very interested in the campaign against Napoleon. He’s always asking me what steps the government is taking. He’d like to be an officer himself, but he doesn’t want to leave me,” Her ignorant conceit accepted this as gospel.

  “Miss Longville, has he ever asked you to open your father’s private documents and tell him what’s in them?”

  “Of course not! That would be quite improper, and I told him so.”

  “Then he did ask!”

  “He only mentioned it once. I don’t have to read the documents. Papa discusses these things with me. He knows the secrets of the government are safe with me.”

  Bernard Kemp’s strategy was becoming clear. He pumped Nel’s brain dry of every word her father told her, and to impress him, she discussed these matters at length with her trusting father. No doubt Bernard dis­covered when important decisions had been made, and when the documents outlining them would be delivered to the army. He had his cohorts ready to relieve the couriers of their burden. To keep a distance from his French cohorts, Nel was used as an unwitting inter­mediary. Like her father and neighbors, she saw no harm in giving the Gentlemen a hand, so that was what Bernard told her the letters contained.

  “As safe as eggs with a weasel. You are in a great deal of trouble, Miss Longville.”

  “But I didn’t do anything, except deliver Bernard’s letters from the smugglers. No one cares about that. Papa has his keg in the cellar.’’

  “You hit me on the head this evening. Were you wait­ing for the letter then?”

  “No, I already had received it ten minutes before. Bernard’s friend delivers them through the French door in that study. I was just waiting for an opportunity to leave the house and meet Bernard, but then you came in, and I didn’t know who you were. I was afraid you were Papa, watching me. I thought I had heard him in the hall earlier. But when I ran into the hall, it was only Kestrel, and I got away from him.”