Vern was nothing like their father and yet, she had wondered what he had been up to the last month. Lately cash had come in somehow and he had managed to get a few things around the place repaired. She had not questioned it, but she had wondered how he was managing. He had been so much more like himself as of late, laughing and jesting—hopeful, and that had made her happy.
She had turned a blind eye, especially when he spoke of giving her a London Season. This was as much her fault as his…whatever ‘this’ might be.
Still, how surprised and shocked she was when she heard just what had brought in the cash, for it wasn’t gambling or smuggling as she had feared—not at all.
She wished when he finished his confession that it had been, but it wasn’t…and now, he was right—his life might be in jeopardy because he had fallen in with the wrong crew.
Things were much worse than she feared.
Chapter Two
SIR EDWARD LOOKED up at the darkening sky and hoped it wouldn’t rain. It had the look of rain. He felt the first drop of it hit his face and with a growl of exasperation he hunched his shoulders into his summer weight riding coat and damned the loss of his top hat.
Cursing out loud helped, but did not do enough to assuage his frazzled nerves and so he added again, quite a bit louder than before, “Zounds! May I be damned beyond redemption if ever I allow myself to misread a woman ever again.”
The cob horse he had managed to buy from the driver of his leased coach, nodded his head most vigorously, though whether in agreement or a desire to be fed, he couldn’t tell, until the big horse snorted, which led him to believe his horse did indeed fully agree. “Indeed, ‘ole boy…had your share of heartache, have you?” He sighed. “’Tis a good thing you are gelded and no longer interested in a filly that might break your spirit.” However, the idea of resorting to such a drastic measure made him frown and shake off these words.
“Egad,” he continued to talk to his horse. “Will I ever forget the events of this day? I feel a fool.”
The light drizzle took on a bit more force and he sighed heavily as he stared at the fingerpost just ahead. It indicated that at least he was not lost. “Aha, Rye…we are nearly there, ‘ole boy. You shall have your grain, hay, water and a straw bed, and I…with any good luck shall have a good sight better than that.”
Once again, as though in agreement, his horse snorted. “Indeed,” Sir Edward said comradely. “Water for you and some of France’s best for me. Tomorrow…well, tomorrow will come and be what it will be. Tonight old steed, I shall take a pretty tavern wench on my knee and get the Lady Babs and my bad behavior wrenched out of my head.” He sighed heavily. “You know, when this day started I thought myself a top sawyer, a devilish hero whisking off his true love. I was wrong. She was right. She told me she was not my true love. She told me and I should have seen it for I am the older, supposedly the wiser. She had always belonged to Wildfire.” He pulled himself erect and announced, “There is nothing for it! Tonight, I shall get very drunk! What say you?”
And on cue, his horse snorted.
The town of Rye came into view and with it Sir Edward recalled all the gossip that surrounded this ‘hilltop town’ overlooking the sea.
It did not actually boast any fabulous heights, though a good part of it overlooked the Marshes—Romney Marsh itself.
Romney, he thought with a grimace. There wasn’t a man alive that didn’t know what went on in Romney Marsh.
Overlooking the Harbor, the Customs House starkly reposed. It was well appointed and quite official in appearance. Sir Edward wondered as he glanced at its darkened interior and his horse clip-clopped by, how much smuggling still went on in Rye.
Smuggling, he knew had always been the town’s mainstay. He had always heard that a man was sure during hard times to turn to a bit of smuggling to see him through. Aye, he understood that philosophy for you couldn’t talk about right and wrong to a man who needed to feed his family.
Edward sighed. He was fairly certain that the business of smuggling was still quite robust and that English money made its way to France more often than not, war or no.
His horse brought him past a large engraved stone which depicted the information that the town dated back to medieval times. Sir Edward grinned as he told his steed, “Aye then, I’d wager the ‘gentlemen’ have been doing business here just as long. What say you?”
His horse blew out air, apparently totally in agreement.
Sir Edward was also aware of all the stories associated with Rye about its numerous ghosts. The village had more than its share of veiled tales of spirits and their like.
These tales had grown over the years and were held as undeniable facts, a friend had once told him. Well, well, that may be, but all he wanted was a room, a bottle and his dinner. If a ghost dared to bother him this evening, he would make the creature regret it.
The Mermaid Inn was home to both smugglers and ghosts, but it looked warm and inviting as he turned into its courtyard and handed the reins of his cob to a livery boy.
He dismounted as the lad held his horse and found the cobbled stones beneath his feet lumpy and annoying as he flipped a coin to the lad and headed for the inn’s large red door.
Tudor in style, with lead paned windows, he admitted to himself that it appeared most charming. Ghosts or no, he stepped through to the open galley.
That first galley was overflowing with men full of salt and vigor. They had come to lay their blunt on the table and enjoy their evening. He meant to do the same.
He saw a group of seamen at a large round table and knew at once that they were smugglers by trade. This inn was their sanctuary, where they were safe from the dragoons and the exciseman. None would accost them here and live.
The Innkeeper stepped forward and was pleased to serve as he wearily requested a room, a bottle and his dinner in a quiet corner.
He found himself readily obliged and within moments poured himself a glass of brandy and thought, indeed, it certainly was some of France’s finest!
With a tired sigh he sat back against his wooden chair and contemplated the ribald inhabitants with a sad smirk. In a few hours, the brandy would do its job and he would think of the Lady Babs no more.
*
Berkley Grange was situated some four miles west of Rye and it didn’t take Star long to put the distance behind her.
As she approached the town, she reined in her horse and gulped down a swallow. Faith! How could she do this?
Her heartbeat began to increase rapidly. Her brain became frazzled with conflicting thoughts and she had to ask herself, was she mad to believe she could actually get away with it?
Everything she had done since she decided to don her brother’s clothing—clothing he had worn many years ago while he was still growing, was absurd.
No one would take her for a lad—would they?
Of course, she had created the image of one. Her hair was short and she had put a smidgeon of dirt across both cheeks. She had stuffed wadding into the shoulders of the buckskin riding coat. She hoped both the hat and the riding cloak she now wore would do the rest to disguise her gender.
What she was doing was of course wrong—wrong in so many ways.
The entire escapade she was planning was laced with a behavior that the ladies’ circle would consider wicked beyond consideration.
If that wasn’t bad enough, she was also quite sure the entire undertaking was more than a bit touched with mortal danger.
That her brother could have asked her to do this for him, only displayed his unclear focus and desperation.
She had always thought herself a bright and modern woman, ready to do her part to promote change—political change. This undertaking was quite beneath those ideals.
If all that wasn’t enough, she admitted that she was scared out of her mind about what she was going to do.
Earlier, when she had completed her disguise, she had taken a quick look in the long mirror. She thought that she very well
could pass for a lad of fourteen or so. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
She had, however, quite made up her mind that no one would believe she was Vern, as he had told her to pretend she was him. Thus, she created a fictional male relative and meant to play the part. She would say her cousin Vern had sent her with a message and that was all she knew, nothing more and she would escape as fast as she could.
That, she had decided, might work.
Star pulled the wool cap low over her eyes and adjusted the hood of her cloak like a shroud over her head, cap and all, before she had taken to horse. No chance acquaintance of Vern’s must recognize her as she rode the open road at night. She could only pray that no one would be about and on the open road.
She had searched her mind for an alternative solution, but as mad as this undertaking appeared to be, it also appeared to be the only immediate solution.
Vern believed he was in danger. He said that this man Farley would kill him if he walked into an unexpected situation. He had said he gave Farley misinformation and had to set it right. How had he gotten mixed up with such a nefarious crew?
She knew the stories about the criminal elements that hovered in Romney Marsh. There simply was nothing for it. She had to do this for Vern.
Thus, here she was, with Rye spread out before her.
Drizzle soaked her face and she could feel the weight of her wet cloak on her shoulders. “What in all that is sane, am I actually doing?” She patted her horse’s neck and asked, “Do you know the answer to that? For I do not.”
Even for her, this was rash. She had always been impulsive and independent, but this, this was so wicked.
So many things could go wrong at the night’s end. She had never done anything so reckless and while she enjoyed breaking the rules, like riding astride in breeches, this was quite gravely out of her domain. This wasn’t breaking the rules. This was shattering them beyond repair.
However, she wasn’t doing this for fun. No, indeed. She was not at all enjoying herself. She had to get this done for her brother, who she should, yet couldn’t blame, not entirely. She had adored her father, but had not been blind to his faults. Gaming for one. Indeed he had needed no other for that one single fault had nearly cost them all and now after his death, threatened them still.
Poor Vern. What a burden her father had left him. How could Vern set things right when their hole was so deep and they hadn’t a rope to hold onto? How could Vern take an estate that had been borrowed against for years, an estate with accumulated interest to repay and set everything in order? It had made her brother desperate and of course, desperation clouded his vision. She couldn’t—wouldn’t blame him.
Star squared her shoulders beneath the wadding she had stuffed into her brother’s coat, draped the damp black cloak around her body and gave her horse yet another pat. Her wet kid gloves clung to her fingers and she was beginning to feel the cool night air.
Right, she told herself. Onward, for there was no sense delaying what was apparently the inevitable.
She squeezed her horse’s flanks and he moved forward. It didn’t take long before she was skirting the edge of town over cobbled backstreets to get to the Mermaid Inn, unnoticed.
If she could just get in and out with no one the wiser—if she could just get to the awful brute of a man her brother had described and called Farley—perhaps she could manage. Perhaps with a bit of luck, she could just give the Farley man a message and make good her escape, with no one the wiser. At least then, she would have staved the fiends off and kept Vern safe from harm.
She saw the big bold sign depicting the notorious tavern. The Mermaid Inn was only a short distance ahead. Even with all her resolve, her nerves began to quake. Her mind began to race and she had to steel herself to buck up and keep going.
Star braced herself as she reached the main courtyard, nimbly jumped off and made her way to the back of the inn. She found there a stone courtyard, only dimly lit with one torch. Perfect, she thought. The more I stay to the shadows, the better my chance of doing the deed with no one the wiser.
She tethered her horse to the hitching post and looked around. The livery boys worked the front courtyard and for the time being, she had gone undetected. Zounds! She thought, so far Vern, it appears, that we are safe.
She stood beneath the shelter of the wide roofed portico, the door latch in her hand and took a long gulp of air when a sound at her back startled her and she turned to find a grinning and grimy urchin looking up at her.
“Did ye not hear me, sir? Would ye be wanting yer horse stabled then?”
“No, thank you,” she said in the deepest voice she could manage as she threw him a coin she could ill afford to part with. “I’ll be but a moment and would like to keep him here…right here.”
“Aye then,” the lad said pleased enough to have the coin he held up to the light.
Star swallowed again and entered the busy inn from its back entrance and stood unsure where to go next.
This is dreadful, she thought. She looked around and saw that the corridor led toward many rooms with wide archways. She could hear from the raucous laughter and the squeals of some of the barmaids that everyone was already having a very good time.
This was no place for her, but curiosity nipped at her. Disguised as a lad, she could take a look and see just what went on in the middle of the night at such a place.
She peeked into the first galley. In spite of the fact that she had heard tales of what went on late at night in such establishments, she had never witnessed it firsthand. She watched as a large gruff man grabbed a buxom lady and sat her on his lap. They laughed, threw down their drinks and kissed with vigor.
Star couldn’t take her eyes off the young couple. When the man stuffed his large hand into the bodice of the woman’s gown, Star was struck by the sure stirring she experienced. In spite of the fact that she told herself this was all very wickedly outrageous and that she must not watch such things, she was all too fascinated to do anything but watch. She simply couldn’t tear her eyes away from them as they engaged in what she and her friends always talked about in secret—lusty romance.
“You are too young for that and too young to be here,” said a deep male voice at her back.
Startled she spun around before she could think better of it and thanked providence that her hood was pulled low over her wool capped head. She stared into a pair of bright, slightly amused eyes and decided the only thing she could do was say nothing, so she shrugged and did just that.
“What are you doing here, lad?” the tall, very good looking man asked her.
“Edward…by Jove…it is you! I thought it was,” said a man Star knew very well, very well indeed.
“Jules!” exclaimed the man Jules had called Edward, as he turned and found himself heartily embraced and then slapped on the shoulder.
Star made her escape and breathed a sigh of relief that Jules Stamford had not noticed her. Her disguise would not have held up to his scrutiny, of that she was sure.
She poked her head into another chamber and found a room full with men seated at round tables, some playing cards while others were deep in conversation.
How was she going to pick out Farley? Yes, to be sure, Vern had said he had a very distinctive scar across his nose.
“Well, come on in then, lad,” chirped a young barmaid as she sauntered past him and into the wide galley. She had a touch of an Irish brogue in her voice and an interesting sway as she moved. Star watched her, interested because all the men seemed to find her beautiful and called out affectionate terms to her as she passed.
The Irish girl stopped and turned back to her and said, “Well, ain’t ye coming, then?”
Star again used as low and as gruff a voice as she could muster and asked, “Aye then, can you tell me if Farley is here?”
The serving girl put a hand to her hip and said, “Don’t ye have eyes in yer head? He is sitting right there, he is.” She indicated a large gruff man with a shock of graying dar
k hair seated at a round table with four other men. She turned away and Star breathed a sigh of relief, as she once again bolstered herself and took a step toward her objective. She could see by the cold glint in his eyes that Farley was every bit the hard man she had imagined.
Determined, Star made her way toward him, keeping her head low but taking in every detail of Farley and the men around him. She noted they were all dressed similarly, in what were once white shirts with billowing sleeves, leather vests, wide belts and long wool pants. The four men with Farley wore their wool caps low over their forehead. Farley sported an uncovered head of hair and a toothless smile as his gaze came up from the table and found her.
“Well, well, what do we have here, a young gape-seed?” Farley said with a smile that was neither warm nor inviting. In fact, Star rather felt hit by the warning in the style of the man’s curved lips.
This was a man who would just as soon kill her, as speak with her and she had the immediate urge to turn and run. She cast her eyes around the table and saw that his men looked toward her calculatingly and with the sure hint of an implied threat.
She would have to stand her ground and do what she had come to do. She simply had no choice. This was for Vern.
Luckily the light in the room was dim. She stayed in the shadows. She could see Farley was in no mood to wait while she got up her courage so she dove right into the heart of the matter. Her voice was similar to her brothers and if she could just maintain the lowered gruff voice she had been using, perhaps all would be well.
“I’m here on behalf of m’cousin Vern, the Lord of Berkley Grange,” she said and thought she had imitated a male’s voice tolerably well. She had only detected the smidgeon of a tremble behind the words.
“Are ye now, moonling?” Farley eyed his men, “Look lively, we have a young guest,” he said and pulled out a chair. With his toothless smile, he indicated he wanted her to sit.
“I won’t be staying long, as I shouldn’t be here…but his lordship asked me to deliver a message. He said…you would need to know and that you would understand. I don’t understand it myself, but his lordship says that I don’t need to.”
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