The Gallows Bride

by Rebecca King

  Completely oblivious, Jemima ate slowly, her attention on the man opposite. He was dressed as urbanely as Dominic and Sebastian, but despite his debonair appearance, there was something about him that was different; dangerous and almost sinister.

  As she chewed, a small knot of uncertainty began to grow deep within her. Her logical mind warned her to remain calm; that he really didn’t pose any risk to her whatsoever. But the events of the past few months had taught her not to be too trusting of anyone, regardless of how harmless they looked or what they promised.

  Despite the presence of several very large and brawny men beside her, her fear grew.

  Munching on a richly buttered piece of toast, Jemima lifted her eyes and took the opportunity of Sir Dunnicliffe’s attention being diverted by his conversation with Dominic to study him closely. There was something so familiar about him that Jemima was certain she had met him, or at least seen him, somewhere before, only she couldn’t quite place where. She felt it had been recently.

  She scoured her still hazy memory for any trace of the man opposite. She had certainly never met him as he was now. He looked so urbane, as though he had just come in from the streets of Mayfair.

  She froze and swallowed the toast harshly, taking a large gulp of tea to stop the racking coughs that threatened. Blinking ferociously, she studied the man opposite more closely, removing in her mind’s eye his neatly starched cravat and pristine white shirt, and replacing his emerald silk waistcoat with the garb of a gaoler.

  Dropping her fork, she pushed away from the table, fear locked in her throat. Staring in horror at Sir Dunnicliffe, she knew with absolute certainty that this was the man who had been standing in Mr Simpson’s office, and who had remained with her in the corridor of the gaol while she awaited execution.

  “You!” Jemima gasped, launching from her seat in order to get away from him and the memories his presence at the table brought her. Her breakfast, so tasty only moments earlier, suddenly sat like a lead weight in her stomach and made her feel queasy. She sucked in great gulps of air in a desperate attempt to quell the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The now familiar urge to run was strong; only the presence of Peter now standing next to her, kept her still.

  “Jemima?” Dominic shot Sebastian and Sir Dunnicliffe a questioning look, easing back from the table himself in case there was any trouble.

  Peter was clearly prepared to run after her if she took off, and had turned in his seat warily, his eyes flicking between a clearly horrified Jemima, and an apologetic-looking Sir Dunnicliffe.

  His gaze locked on the latter and he studied the intent way the man was staring back at Jemima, without any hint of surprise at her horror.

  Immediately, the hackles on the back of Peter’s neck rose and he rose to his feet, leading Jemima over to the window, away from the table and whatever it was about Sir Dunnicliffe that had scared her.

  “I’m sorry, Jemima, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Sir Dunnicliffe offered, leaving the table and moving toward them. He ignored Peter’s warning look and stood directly in her line of vision as she stared blankly over the immaculately presented lawns outside, forcing her to look at him.

  Instinctively Peter shifted to put himself between Jemima and the source of her distress, only for Jemima to put a hand on his chest, stopping him with a slow shake of her head.

  “It’s all right, I just wasn’t expecting -” she whispered, momentarily unable to put words to the random thoughts that swirled through her mind.

  “I can understand your shock,” Sir Dunnicliffe said softly.

  Jemima looked quizzically at him. “Can you? Can you really?” She wasn’t so sure, but at least he wasn’t posing any immediate threat to her safety.

  Did he work for Scraggan? What was going on?

  Dominic took the words right out of her mouth.

  “I think you had better explain what is going on,” he demanded. The gaze he turned on Sir Dunnicliffe was far from friendly, and held a hint of warning that, government official or not, if he didn’t come up with answers, and fast, he would be out of the house as quickly as he could blink.

  “Jemima recognises me,” Sir Dunnicliffe explained. “Don’t you Jemima?”

  After several moments of calm recollection, Jemima slowly nodded.

  “From where?” Peter was still tense, not liking the sudden paleness of Jemima’s cheeks. Sitting around the table earlier, she had looked beautiful, with her once pale cheeks softly tinged with colour, and all trace of fear gone from her eyes as she had enjoyed what was probably her first proper meal since leaving Padstow.

  “Gaol.” Jemima’s blunt word made everyone lunge backward from the table and stand, glaring menacingly at Sir Dunnicliffe, who had the grace to look abashed.

  Holding up his hands defensively in an attempt to ward off their imminent attack, he glanced ruefully at Jemima.

  “If you could call off your guard dogs for a moment, I think we need to adjourn to the room next door and I can bring everyone, including you, up to date.” His voice was tinged with mild amusement that fell flat against the level of tension, which was practically humming in the air.

  Jemima nodded jerkily, allowing Peter to draw her away. She was frowning thoughtfully by the time she was seated in one of the large brocade chairs beside the fireplace.

  Despite the roaring flames in the grate, she felt chilled to the bone. The raw memories of the past two days made her feel as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

  “I think you had better explain,” Dominic ordered, his voice cold and faintly threatening.

  “He was one of the gaolers,” Jemima replied with a shudder. She glanced up at Sir Dunnicliffe, who had remained standing.

  He looked most officious with his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders broad and straight, staring at each man in turn before looking at Jemima.

  “I think it would be best if I started from the beginning, then you will all understand what this is about, and what needs to happen next.” Sir Dunnicliffe knew he sounded pompous but was happy to adopt an ‘official’ stance in order to ensure they didn’t lynch him.

  “Please do,” Peter snapped, settling back in the chair beside Jemima, one booted foot resting casually on one knee in a pose that was anything but restful.

  “Firstly, please call me Hugo. Sir Dunnicliffe seems such a mouthful.” He bowed at Jemima and offered her a soft smile that lit his eyes and eased some of the dark menace from his countenance.

  “You are quite right, I was in Mr Simpson’s office, and waited with you in the corridor on the morning you were supposed to be executed -” He heard Dominic’s snarl, but refused to move his eyes from Jemima’s. He knew she was wary of him; that his presence in the house had frightened her, most probably because he brought so many bad memories with him. He couldn’t blame her if she despised him. All he could do was hope that once he had imparted all the facts then she would feel more inclined to be amenable toward him.

  If not, then he had a major problem on his hands.

  He glanced around the room at the assembled men and mentally heaved a sigh. He may be able to call upon Jemima’s good nature to plead her forgiveness, but this lot of battle-hardened warriors before him would be far harder to appease, if it was at all possible.

  “I am head of the Star Elite,” Hugo explained, glancing at Dominic and Peter. “The rag-tag group of ex-soldiers and friends you rounded up to help you hunt for the smugglers in Norfolk are still together, mostly.”

  He watched Dominic shift forward in his seat, clearly intrigued by the latest news.

  “Ashley Carrington?”

  Hugo nodded.

  “Simon Montague?”

  Hugo nodded again.

  “David Petersen, Rupert Samuels and Jonathan Arbinger?”

  Hugo hesitated and shook his head slowly. “Not David Petersen, I’m afraid. He got married a few weeks ago and has decided to return to Yorkshire to run his family estates. He has been replaced by som
eone else, though, who is equally well trained. Except for Pie Masters and Archie Balfour, everyone else has changed too.”

  Dominic and Peter exchanged a searching glance. “They are now called the Star Elite?”

  Hugo nodded. “When you, quite rightly, returned home and left the men back in Norfolk to tie up loose ends, they went after the smuggler who got away. Determined not to be beaten, they have spent the time since locating him and gathering a wealth of information on his activities. We have unearthed a lot, I can tell you.”

  “Over the course of the past few months the men have been specially trained in gunmanship, espionage and all sorts of special skills that have made them the elite of the War Office. They were given a name under which to work, and now consist of Rupert Samuels, Jonathan Arbinger, Pie Masters, Archie Balfour, Simon Ambrose, Stephen Montague, Harper ‘Harry’ Hamilton-Smythe and Jamie Montford. They are the Star Elite.”

  Peter swore, shaking his head in wonder as the names of at least five men he went to school with, were mentioned.

  “So they have been on Scraggan’s tail ever since?”

  Hugo nodded cautiously. “Among others, but mostly we have been keeping an eye on Scraggan, as he is the ringleader; the head smuggler, if you will.” He turned to Jemima. “We always managed to only get so far, though, before we were blocked in one way or another. Until your father brought his valuable information to the War Office. That is what gave us a new lead to follow, which has proven richly rewarding.” He held up his hand when Peter tried to interrupt.

  “Let me explain. We have men undercover. Although you know who the Star Elite are, it is important that you don’t know who is in Padstow as they are heavily disguised. They are able to feed us the information we need to find out about Scraggan’s activities before they happen, but there is a lot information missing. Because we had men already undercover when your father came to us, we heard that you and Eliza had left Padstow and Scraggan had sent his men after you.”

  “So you knew that because of their father’s visit to the War Office, they were in significant danger? Why did you not give them protection?” Peter demanded, impatience lining his every word.

  “Because they left before we could find them,” and he turned to Jemima, his eyes sad and full of sympathy. “I would like to take this moment to offer my sincere condolences to you on the loss of your father. He was an exceptionally brave man who gave his life for the welfare of his country. You should be very proud of him.”

  Silence settled over the room for several moments. Jemima nodded her thanks, unable to speak past the huge lump in her throat.

  “If it wasn’t for your father, and his valuable contact in the village, then we wouldn’t have had the leads we had. We have been able to capture several French spies on British soil as a direct result of your father’s bravery.”

  Jemima gasped, feeling a thrill of pride at the knowledge that her father’s actions hadn’t been ignored after all. She blinked back tears, determined to hear the rest of Hugo’s explanation. Although she still didn’t trust him, some of her initial horror had started to fade, leaving curiosity in its wake.

  “But there is a lot more work to do. We need a lot more information about Scraggan’s activities before we can arrest him and put him before a judge. He has been very careful not to be seen doing things himself. He has always sent his men out to do his work for him. But someone has been arranging meetings with the captains of the ships carrying the cargo, and someone has been setting up the network of people who smuggle the spies through the country. We know it is Scraggan, but we just need more information. He will certainly hang for his crimes; it is just a matter of when.” Hugo began to pace backward and forward before the fireplace, clearly lost in the intricacies of the case against Scraggan and his many criminal activities.

  “We need to get into a position where the insurmountable evidence we put before a judge will ensure a swift trial, and give the judge no alternative but to pass the death sentence upon him. But to do that, we need to find direct evidence of his personal culpability in the smuggling activities going on in Padstow. We know that he has been involved ...” Hugo paused, wondering how to phrase it.

  “But you need to catch him holding the weapon, so to speak, to be able to arrest him,” Jemima added into the silence, thinking of her own ordeal. She watched a startled respect enter Hugo’s eyes at her blunt and accurate analysis of the situation.

  Nodding thoughtfully, Hugo stared at her. “Exactly. By gathering as much information as we can on his activities, and getting as much paperwork we can as proof, we can not only bring Scraggan down but we can prevent what happened in Norfolk from happening again. We don’t want anyone involved in this relocating and starting again. Everyone involved has to be brought to trial, and punished, for playing their part. Unfortunately, that means we have to have a direct link to Scraggan’s personal involvement in crimes. So far, we know which of his men were sent to kill, and which of his men led which smuggling gangs.”

  “But you haven’t got anything on Scraggan himself,” Peter sighed, wondering what it would take to bring the man down.

  Dominic quietly left the room, returning a few minutes later with a sheaf of papers that looked familiar to Jemima.

  “On Jemima’s instructions, Edward gave Eliza these papers. Apparently, when the ladies left Padstow, they each carried some documents that were needed together to be of any use. I think you will find them interesting.” He held out the pale cream parchment, resuming his seat as Hugo carefully unfolded them and began to read.

  “Good God!” Hugo stared in shock at Jemima. “You and Eliza were carrying these?”

  Jemima nodded slowly, knowing the significance of the papers now in the government’s hands.

  “No wonder Scraggan and Rogan have been so determined to capture you.” Hugo shook his head, studying the list of names, dates and places that filled so many gaps in their investigation, astounded.

  Jemima took the opportunity of the momentary silence within the room to explain the contents of the papers she and Eliza had spent months protecting.

  “They list the names of the ships, the dates and times of arrival, along with codes and contacts.” Jemima didn’t need to look at the papers to know what was in them. She had committed their contents to memory a long time ago. “One of the sheet has the codes, giving exact details of what each shipment entails, along with cargo lists and buyers. These are details of the French spies they have smuggled into the country; who the spies are meeting, where and when, etcetera. You now have all of the details of the exact cargo Scraggan has been handling, along with his contacts. It is information on his entire network up to the point we left Padstow.”

  “Where in the hell did you get all of this?” Hugo demanded. As he stared down at the sheet of paper, he knew she was telling him the truth and he was holding nothing less than gold dust in his hands. Dates and ships he knew from the Star Elite’s own informants were clearly listed alongside ships he had heard of but never considered to be involved. The enormity of the information held on those three sheets of paper was not lost on him, and he now fully understood why Scraggan was so determined to kill Jemima and Eliza.

  Jemima shifted uncomfortably on her seat, lost for words. She would have to have her fingernails pulled out before she told him that.

  When silence met his question, Hugo turned to stare at her, clearly waiting for an answer.

  With a huge sigh, Jemima glanced at Peter, before turning to Hugo with a shake of her head.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that.”

  Hugo studied her carefully. “We can protect them.”

  Jemima snorted inelegantly and arched a frosty brow back at him. “Like you did me?” She didn’t need to turn her head to know that Peter was watching her, but for the life of her couldn’t meet his gaze either. She could hold out against Hugo, a veritable stranger, but knew all Peter had to do was ask, and she would most probably tell him anything and everythi
ng!

  “You are alive, aren’t you?” Hugo challenged, his tone argumentative.

  “But look what you put her through. If you knew she wasn’t going to be hanged, why didn’t you just spare us all the bloody misery and tell us it was a sham?” Peter spat, his own anger rising at the unnecessary pain and suffering they had all been put through.

  “Because we didn’t know whether Scraggan had men on the inside of the gaol providing him with information. We had to make it look as realistic as possible.”

  “Did Mr Simpson know it was all a ruse?” Dominic asked, remembering the intent conversation he had interrupted when he had returned to Simpson’s office.

  Hugo nodded. “Let me explain.” He sighed and took the seat directly opposite Jemima. He hadn’t let her off the hook just yet, and wasn’t going to until she had told him what he needed to know.

  “I think you had better,” Peter’s voice held a note of warning.

  “We had two men following Jemima and Eliza. One man was undercover at the inn where Eliza worked.” He ignored Edward’s gasp, and shot him a pointed look. “Yes, we knew when you left with her, and although we didn’t know where you were headed, we did have men on alert in Padstow in case you turned up unannounced so to speak.”

  “She was nearly killed for God’s sake,” Edward spat, thinking of the numerous men who had challenged not only himself, but had almost taken the lives of his brothers and Peter.

  “The Star Elite is a relatively small group of men. We do have a few others working for us, but the main group is not that big. It is what makes us so good at what we do, but it also does stretch us occasionally. We know your background, Edward, and believed that, if anyone could keep her alive, you could.”

  “What about Jemima?” Peter asked, wondering if they had planned to just abandon her to her fate.