by Jayne Davis
“I’ll do my best to make sure they are safe, Archer.” He didn’t like to imagine what Sandow might do.
“That’s good, my lord.”
They set off again, risking unshuttering the lantern briefly as they entered the woodland. A breeze ruffled the leaves above them, but Will hardly felt it at ground level.
“This Sandow and his mates organise the smuggling,” Archer went on, keeping his voice low. “Sandow takes money from all the villagers to pay for the cargo, pays them back with a little profit.”
“I’ve heard of that, yes.”
“Thing is, my lord, they don’t get no choice about contributing. If they don’t pay, they get what Mrs Strickland got, or their kids get it like young Danny. If they do pay, they get their money back, and a little extra. It’s not much extra, by the sound of it, but that ain’t the point, to me.”
“It makes sure they won’t want to give evidence if anyone gets—”
A noise—what was it?
It came again, a metallic jingle, hardly audible above the other sounds of the night. Below them, through the trees.
“Someone on the road?” Archer muttered. They waited a little longer, but heard nothing more.
“Come on,” Will breathed, and led the way to the little clearing, shuttering the lamp before they emerged from the trees.
There was no moonlight, but the skies were clear and the stars bright. The land below was black against the faint glow of the sky, but there was enough light to reflect from the foam where waves ran up the beach, turning the fishing boats into darker shapes cutting across the pale lines.
Nothing happened for some time, then Will spotted a flash from the sea. Someone in the village below must have been keeping watch, for doors opened, spilling light onto the streets. More patches of light moving towards the beach must be from shuttered lanterns.
A dark shape came closer, nosing into the bay until it must surely be almost aground. Will heard the rattle of an anchor chain.
The crack of a shot echoed between the valley walls. Shouts and a clatter of hooves came from below, followed by more shots. With the noise of a small army, half a dozen or so mounted men emerged onto the beach. Someone from the revenue had managed to bring in a troop of dragoons.
Will’s instinct was to run down to the village, but he recalled his promise to Connie not to get involved. There was nothing he could do, he realised, even if he decided to break that promise. The dragoons would assume he was a smuggler; the smugglers would think he was on the side of the law. He’d be a target for both sides.
The scene on the beach was a confusing mass of shadows, shouts, and shots. In the midst of it all, a rowing boat was lowered from the ship, oars making pale splashes as the crew struggled to tug the vessel back out to sea.
“Them dragoons are brave, or bloody fools,” Archer muttered, as the horsemen retreated to the road.
“Bloody fools, I think,” Will said, watching as the dragoons clustered in a group, surrounded by villagers, then started moving slowly inland. “They didn’t bring enough men to defeat a whole village full of smugglers. All they’ve done is warn them off.” A couple of riders slumped forwards over their horses’ necks; the others pointed muskets at the villagers.
“Do you think we can intercept them?” Will asked. The soldiers might be able to give him some information about the smuggling, even if they’d achieved nothing else this night.
“We can try.”
There might be a path through the woods to bring them out on the road above the village, but Will didn’t know it. Best to head for the house, and then to the road from there. They hurried back the way they’d come, moving as fast as they could in the darkness. Will prayed he wouldn’t delay things by tripping over a root or putting his foot in a rabbit hole.
They hadn’t needed to rush—once they came in sight of the house, Will heard hooves on gravel. The preventatives had come for help.
Chapter 31
Connie awoke to banging on the door. Not her door… Will’s door? There was silence for a minute, then the banging resumed, heard clearly through the open connecting door. She must have fallen asleep while waiting for him—that was why she was still wearing a robe over her chemise.
She stepped out onto the landing, a knot of dread forming in her stomach. Something was wrong—if Will was in his room, he would have opened his door by now.
“It’s soldiers, my lady,” Warren said, his tone urgent. “Lord Wingrave needs to come.”
“He’ll be there shortly,” Connie said. She hoped so, at least; he’d promised to only watch. It was up to her to see what the soldiers wanted. “I will be there directly.” She pulled her muslin gown on and hurriedly pinned the front.
Two men lay in the entrance hall, both in the scarlet jackets of dragoons. An officer and a man in civilian clothing knelt by them, two more soldiers standing beyond. The officer rose to his feet as Connie approached.
“Captain Burke, my lady,” he introduced himself. “We heard Lord Wingrave was in residence. I hoped he might be able to help with my men.”
“What—?”
“One has been shot in the leg, my lady, the other has a slashed arm.”
“Of course. Warren, rouse Mrs Curnow and the maids.” She turned back to the officer. “Has someone gone for a doctor, Captain?”
“Yes, but he could be some time.”
A gunshot wound. She knew nothing about treating such a thing; all she could do was to stem the bleeding, and to make the man as comfortable as possible.
“Ah, you are the cause of the shots we heard. I went out to see what was happening.”
That was Will’s voice, thank goodness. Connie turned, and let out a breath of relief when she saw him at the front door, apparently unhurt.
“Lord Wingrave?” Captain Burke bowed. “Captain Burke. This is Mr Sullivan, of the Revenue Service. I apologise for bursting in on your home like this, but these men need urgent assistance.”
Connie moved closer, trying to see the men’s injuries more clearly.
The officer came to stand next to her. “Dennison’s arm only needs bandaging, I think, enough to get him home. Vance…” He shook his head.
“Get him to a bed,” Will said. “Warren, where’s the best place?”
“My room’s the closest, my lord.”
“Thank you. See to it, please. Burke’s men will help you.”
Connie stood to one side, watching as two soldiers lifted Vance and carried him through the servants’ door, followed by Warren and the captain.
“Can you help him out of his coat?” she asked, turning her attention to the soldier still lying on the floor.
Between them, Sullivan and Will eased Dennison’s injured arm from his coat, to the accompaniment of a stifled groan. His shirt sleeve was red with blood, but the gash beneath was only oozing. Connie put a hand on his forehead; although pale, he didn’t have the clammy feel of someone seriously ill.
“I can deal with that, my lady,” Mrs Curnow said, hurrying in with a basin and cloth.
“Thank you, Mrs Curnow,” Connie replied. “I must take a look at the other man.”
Will followed her into Warren’s room, where the bed had been stripped to the bottom sheet. Vance lay on it, his face grey. Blood soaked one leg of his breeches, beneath a sodden bandage.
“That bandage needs to come off, and his breeches,” Connie said, taking a deep breath. “Cutting them might be best. Warren, more water—boiled water, if possible—and cloths, please.” She pulled off her wedding ring and put it into the pocket beneath her skirts; it would only get in the way.
The captain produced a knife and cut through the bandage, then around the wounded man’s breeches.
“Turn him over, Burke,” Will said from behind her. “He might be lucky.”
Lucky?
She saw what Will meant when they rolled the man onto his side. There was a wound on the back of his thigh as well, still oozing blood, but that might only be because
they’d pulled off the bandage stuck to it.
“Bullet went right through,” Will said, “and missed the arteries.”
“We can wash it out,” Connie said, regarding the wounds doubtfully. She’d never dealt with such a deep injury before, but the principles must be the same as for shallower cuts.
“If you would, my lady,” Captain Burke said. “Hopefully there’s no bits of his breeches dragged in, but the doctor can look for that.”
Connie swallowed hard. She’d do that as well if she had to, but poking around inside a man’s leg was well beyond her experience. She felt a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
“One of us can do it if you wish,” Will said.
She shook her head, his touch helping to steady her.
“Washing with wine or spirits is supposed to help, too,” she said. “Captain, you might need to hold him down.”
Warren returned with steaming water, only to be sent off again for wine. Vance hardly stirred when she washed the wound with water, and only moved restlessly and moaned when she poured the wine in. That was worrying in itself, she thought as she applied a clean bandage.
“Should we give him some laudanum?” Will asked.
“I… I’m not sure. He doesn’t seem to need it at the moment. If he wakes up, then yes.”
“Very well. Warren, you sit with him. Captain, please find Sullivan and meet me in my library. I’d like a word with you.”
The captain nodded and left.
“You too, Connie,” Will said. Once outside Warren’s room he put one arm around her shoulders.
“Well done,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “And thank you.”
“That’s all right.” He no longer seemed to be distancing himself from her, and some of the tension within her relaxed.
In the library, Will offered everyone a glass of wine. Sullivan and the captain accepted with thanks, but Connie declined. She wanted to keep her wits about her.
“I was watching from above the village,” Will began, his gaze on her face.
Connie acknowledged his look with a smile. He had kept his word to her.
“They are determined men, Sullivan, to fight off mounted dragoons,” Will continued.
Sullivan grimaced, taking a large swallow of his drink. “As are most such criminals in these parts, my lord. We should be grateful none of us are dead, although that’s not from the kindness of their hearts.” He shook his head. “I’d be able to get a bigger force if we were facing murder.”
“How did you know there’d be a run tonight?” Will asked.
Sullivan pressed his lips together, glancing towards Connie as he did so.
“I assure you, Mr Sullivan, nothing you say here will go any further,” Connie said, irritated that he didn’t want to speak in front of her.
Sullivan shrugged. “A revenue cruiser spotted a boat waiting offshore a few days ago. Last night, a watcher saw a light signalling from Ashmouth. We weren’t certain, but a run seemed likely. I hope I can rely on you, my lord, to pass on any information you may come across concerning these criminals.”
“Indeed I will, Mr Sullivan. Captain Burke, someone will stay with Vance until the doctor arrives. You may leave the other—Dennison, was it? You can leave him here tonight if you wish. Warren or Mrs Curnow will show him where to sleep.”
Both men bowed and took their leave. Connie yawned, feeling sleepy again now there was nothing more to do.
“You can return to bed, Connie. I’ll make sure everything’s locked up and someone is keeping watch.”
He was preoccupied with the wounded men and the night’s events, and she was tired after the… excitement was the wrong word. This was not the time to tell him she’d changed her mind.
“I’ll take a hot drink up,” she said.
Will went with Connie down to the kitchen. There was no-one there— surely it didn’t take both Warren and Mrs Curnow to find Dennison a bed? Then he noticed the door to the cellar standing ajar.
“What’s in the cellar that they might need?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Your new medicines?”
She met his eyes, shaking her head.
“Stay here,” he whispered, and cautiously pushed the door open further. The corridor beyond was dimly lit by lantern glow from one of the storerooms along the corridor. The only sound was a murmur of voices.
He stepped into the corridor. The cool air smelled fresh, earthy, not the musty smell there had been last time he was down here.
“The secret door must be open,” Connie breathed behind him.
Damn. He should have known she would follow him. He turned his head, a finger to his lips, and caught the nod of her head in the gloom.
The light faded for a moment, blocked by someone standing in the doorway of the storeroom. Two men came out and walked away from them, silhouetted by the lantern they carried. They were going towards the end room with the concealed exit.
“Wait,” Will murmured. He was aware of Connie’s silent presence, a warmth against his back even though they were not touching.
The men, concentrate on them.
The lantern light vanished as the men entered the end room and closed the door behind them. The only light now was from the nearer storeroom.
Will moved forward, treading noiselessly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t the sight that met his eyes when he reached the doorway. Warren and Mrs Curnow stood over a man lying on a blanket spread on the floor. Not a villager; the fabric of his suit was more costly than the villagers’ drab homespun. Blood coated one side of his face, soaking into his neckcloth and the collar of his coat. It was difficult to make out much else in the lantern light.
“Another visitor,” he said. Warren and Mrs Curnow swung round to face him, both wide-eyed with fear.
Connie pushed past him to kneel at the man’s side. She put a hand to his forehead, then to the side of his neck. “He needs a doctor.”
“No!”
The denial came from both the butler and the housekeeper. Connie sat back on her heels, gazing from one to the other. “He may well die without proper attention,” she stated, her voice firm.
Will had seen unconscious men before, had even been knocked out himself once or twice while sparring, and in each case had come around of his own accord with little worse than a violent headache and a bit of dizziness. But he trusted that Connie knew enough to give that verdict.
Warren licked his lips and cast a glance at the man on the floor. “He… he’s one of the villagers, my lord.”
“A doctor’d report him,” Mrs Curnow added. “Might arrest him.”
And you’ve been threatened with something dire if he is found or if he dies.
Connie stood, brushing dust from her gown. “He should be in a proper bed, not lying on a cold floor.”
She was looking to him to make a decision.
There was little to be gained by handing the man over to Captain Burke or Sullivan now, and possibly more information to be had if they did not. At the very least they might gain some goodwill from the villagers.
“There must be spare beds in the servants’ quarters,” he said. “Bring one down, or bring a pallet. Ask Archer to help you, it’s best if as few other people know about this as possible.” He looked from one to the other. “In fact, it would be best if no-one else knows of my involvement or Lady Wingrave’s. Particularly Sandow.”
Warren and Mrs Curnow both nodded, their faces still taut with worry.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair; they now had two dangerously ill men to look after, and not many people to do it.
“Mrs Curnow, remain with this man while Warren sorts out a bed.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Connie followed him back through the kitchens. “I’ll just check on the soldier,” she said. She was gone only a minute before joining him in the library.
“That man isn’t a villager,” she stated, as soon as the door closed behind them.
&nbs
p; “No.”
“Are you going to tell the captain, or Sullivan, about him when they return tomorrow? And tell them who runs the smuggling around here?”
“I should, I know.”
She nodded, her expression showing no surprise.
“But they would need evidence against Sandow to arrest him, and then people willing to testify at a trial. I’ve only got hearsay, no direct evidence myself. As for our extra guest—there is something more here than smuggling, Connie. That man could be the organiser, or someone with a particular cargo to see off or collect. I’d like the chance to question him before handing him over.”
“You could leave all that to the authorities,” she suggested, one eyebrow raised.
“I could,” he admitted.
“But then you probably wouldn’t find out what is going on.” That was exasperation in her voice. “Handing him over would mean losing our cook and butler, as well.”
“You think they’d run away?”
She stared at him for a moment. “No, I mean you’d have to find them another position far enough away so that Sandow couldn’t take his revenge.”
Oh. Of course.
She crossed to the door. “I’ll wait in the kitchen until the doctor arrives.”
“You don’t need to stay up,” he said, as she put her hand to the door handle.
She gave him that stare again. “I was going to find out how to treat our second guest, without letting him guess why I am asking about head injuries.”
“Oh, good idea. I was only thinking you would be tired.”
Her expression softened, and he followed her back to the kitchen.
The soldier who had been sent for help returned two hours later—without a doctor. He’d had to go as far as Ottery St Mary, and then had only managed to find an apothecary willing to turn out in the middle of the night. Connie’s sleepiness vanished now she had something to do again.
Middleton was a nervous young man of Connie’s own age, and not even the apothecary, but his senior apprentice. Connie helped him to ease the bandage from the soldier’s thigh.