Indeed, it was nearly one before Joshua fell asleep, and Adriana herself was so relaxed by then that it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. At last, certain that if she remained in bed she would fall asleep, she got up and moved to sit by the window. Knowing from experience that Joshua slept deeply, she did not fear to waken him when she opened the window a crack to let in enough chilly night air to blow the drowsiness away or even when she tiptoed into her room and back, to fetch her watch. She was glad that the night was dark, that the stars and moon were hidden away behind a layer of clouds. Were there moonlight, Jacob had warned her the ship would not come. Surely it was dark enough. She could scarcely see the tiny hands on her watch.
At last, however, it was time to dress. Leaving her carefully written note on the chair and hurrying to her dressing room, she donned her traveling dress, Lady Adelaide’s hooded cloak, and Chalford’s cast-off boots. Then, pulling her bandboxes from under her bed, where they had been hidden from sight by the bed curtains, she carried them down the stairs, through the dining room, to the hall. The rooms through which she passed seemed larger and more mysterious in the dark, but she dared not light a candle. For one thing, she would have been hard-pressed to carry one without losing her boxes. For another, she feared, however nonsensically, to waken someone with the light.
Jacob was waiting for her, and they went quickly. At one point, after they had crossed the drive, he stopped her with a hand on her arm, pointing toward the barbican as he pulled her into the shadows. A glow shone briefly in the gateway passage, and a moment later a watchman swinging a lantern strolled into the quadrangle. He paused, looking up as though the weather were his first concern, then from side to side. Seeing nothing amiss, he went on past the keep toward the rose garden.
Quickly, Jacob urged Adriana toward the marsh gate. “He’ll come back the same way,” he muttered. “Best we make speed.”
The trip down the steep, pebble-strewn path to the beach was a harrowing experience. At every step, despite her sturdy boots, she feared to slip and fall, but at last they reached the tall boulders that marked the edge of the beach. Their feet crunched on the shingle as they made their way toward water’s edge, but Jacob no longer seemed to worry about any noise they made.
She could see the dark bulk of a medium-sized sailing vessel some fifty yards out, and the rowboat was waiting, drawn up onto the sand, with two burly men standing by to man the oars. Jacob made no attempt to introduce her as he helped her aboard, and Adriana could not feel that the men would welcome amenities, so she held her tongue and took her seat in the stern.
The rowboat was efficiently launched, and the journey to the ship took but a few minutes. When they reached her, the rowboat drew alongside with a thump, and the men shipped their oars.
The rope ladder looked thin, narrow, and altogether unsuited to its purpose. Adriana eyed it askance.
“We’ll keep it taut fer ’e, m’lady,” said one of the oarsmen in a gruff voice.
“Will you, now?” she retorted. “And will you also fish me out of the sea when I tumble in?”
“Mayhap y’d prefer me to carry you up—over me shoulder like,” the second man suggested, amusement clear in his voice.
“No, thank you. I shall do.” She hitched the front hem of her long skirt up under her chin, hoping the darkness would cover her. Then, grasping one side of the ladder firmly in each hand, she placed a foot on the bottom rung and let herself swing free of the rowboat. There was brief panic when her body seemed destined to crash into the side of the vessel, but the men grabbed the ladder, steadying it. She took a deep breath and began to climb. After that it was no time at all before willing hands were assisting her onto the deck of the smuggler’s vessel.
Still no introductions were made or requested, but when the commander of the vessel suggested that she would prefer the privacy of his cabin belowdecks, she assured him that she wished to stay on deck and would do her best not to trouble anyone.
“This is an adventure, Captain, and I mean to enjoy every minute of it,” she said.
He grunted, but she heard a chuckle or two from his crew, and one of them showed her a pile of coiled rope that she could use as a seat. There were no proper benches. Clearly, this was no nobleman’s yacht, commandeered for the purpose.
As the sails were raised, Adriana bethought herself of the booms guarding the mouth of the harbor, but the ship sailed out with no difficulty at all. There was a brisk breeze out of the northeast, so they moved with speed, and once again she felt the exhilaration she always felt on the sea.
“Comfortable, mum?” It was the captain.
Though she knew it was too dark for him to read her expression, she smiled. “This is beyond anything great, sir. I cannot thank you enough.”
He grunted again, then moved forward several yards. The water looked lighter now, she thought, standing to look over the rail. She could see white horses riding the waves. Overhead she beheld a patch of stars, quickly hidden by scudding black clouds. A moment later, the half-moon peeped through that same break in the clouds. She heard the captain swear beneath his breath.
“Up wi’ ye, Wee Donal’,” he ordered in a low but carrying tone. “Keep a sharp eye out.”
The clouds above appeared now to be separating, breaking apart. The moon appeared more often, but briefly, only to disappear again seconds later. The little ship sped on.
“Sail ho!” came a shout from the rigging not a half-hour later. “’Tis a big ’un, Cap’n, straight off to stern.”
“Cutter?”
“Most like,” replied the disembodied voice from above.
“Oh,” gasped Adriana, “is it revenuers?”
“Aye, mum,” the captain replied wearily. “More o’ yer adventure, I’m thinkin’. We’ll just pray it ain’t more ’n ye’ve bargained fer altogether.”
10
FOR A MOMENT, ADRIANA feared the cutter would catch them, but mercifully, the clouds overhead thickened again. The captain hoisted all sails and headed seaward, away from the coast. The little ship seemed to fly then, for she was built for speed with a light hull and lines at bow and stern like those of a racing yacht, and she soon showed the cutter a clean pair of heels.
“Will we be able to sail into Brighton?” Adriana asked the captain an hour later when he came to assure her that all was well. “I should not like to be responsible for new difficulties, you know. If it is too dangerous for you and your men, you must do as you think best and never mind me.”
For the first time, he chuckled. “Earlier, that would ha’ meant feedin’ ye t’ the fishes, ma’am, and hopin’ fer best afterward. But ye’ve got courage, I’ll say that fer ye. Not a squeak out o’ ye did we hear, e’en when their cannon roared. We’ll see ye in t’ Brighton, right enow, and should we sight yon cutter again, we’ll do what we done afore, which is t’ say we’ll put up our lady’s helm, present ’er stern side to ’is majesty, and run before the wind.”
“Why did you run at all?” she asked. “Surely, you unloaded any cargo you carried earlier. What could they have found?”
“Aye, mum, cargo be safe ashore, but we’ve our own share o’ the goods below and”—he screwed his weathered features in what was clearly meant to be a wink—“our fair passenger besides. We’d have a time explainin’ yer presence, that we would.”
She nodded, realizing she had no wish whatsoever to have to explain to his majesty’s customs agents her presence aboard such a vessel. Not, she thought mischievously, that it wouldn’t be worth something to see the look on Chalford’s face when they sent for him to fetch his wife. She couldn’t help but worry about the free traders, however. “It is getting light,” she said. “That must make it more dangerous for you than ever—landing, that is.”
“Nay, mum, for the wind’s a-shiftin’ an’ that’ll mean we can hoist our spinnaker. ’Tis a fine bright-striped sheet, she be. Only wait till ye clap yer peepers on ’er. We’ll rearrange our rigging a trifle as well, and even if we
run onto the same lot as chased us earlier, they’ll never guess us t’ be the same vessel. Nor will they suspect us fer what we be wi’ so noteworthy a sail as yon red-and-white spinnaker a-flyin’ afore us.” He peered at her, his head to one side. “We was meant t’ make landfall after daybreak, mum. Had ye not thought upon what a night landing would mean t’ ye, all alone as ye are?”
She had not. Indeed, she realized now that there had been a rather large gap in her planning. “I imagined myself landing in darkness,” she admitted, “but then I simply imagined myself cozy and warm, tucked up before a fire in my friend’s house. I never considered how I would get there from the shore. I daresay you must think me a ninnyhammer.”
The captain grunted. “Mr. Wittersham, fortunately, had his wits about him, ma’am. There be a gig laid on fer ye on the cliff above where we’ll put in. The lads’ll see ye up the cliff and the driver’s a man ye can trust. What ye tell yer friends be yer ain concern, but I trust ye’ll be namin’ no names.”
“Why, Captain,” she said demurely, “I could not an I wished to, for I’ve not heard a single name other than Wee Donald’s, which is scarcely sufficient to identify him. Moreover, I’ve seen no face clearly save your own, and that by early twilight.”
“Ye’ll see us all clear enow afore we make landfall, howsomever, for we’ve fallen behind our time.”
Indeed, they had traveled far out into the Channel in their effort to elude the revenue cutter, and it was nearly nine before they dropped anchor and lowered a boat. When Adriana realized the ship would not tie up to a dock, she dreaded the impending descent of the rope ladder, but she was spared this ordeal. Instead, she was lowered in a bosun’s chair, a rigging of straps and ropes that enabled her to maintain most of her dignity and to descend to the rowboat without mishap. Once there, she was helped out of her harness by one of the same two sailors who had rowed her to the vessel in the first place, while the other held them away from the side of the ship. She recognized both from their voices when they spoke to her.
The path up the cliffside was clear of pebbles and thus not as difficult to manage as its counterpart at Thunderhill, and the gig was waiting as promised at the top, in the charge of a small, wiry man, perched stiff-backed upon the seat and dressed in buff-colored stockinette breeches, boots, white gloves and neckcloth, and a long-tailed dark coat similar to that worn by gentlemen for riding. A dark beaver hat sat squarely upon his grizzled locks.
Adriana regarded this personage with amazement.
“Stir yer stumps, ye lunkheads,” he snapped, making no effort to descend from his perch. “Ain’t I been a-waitin’ on ye this hour an’ longer? What ye think—I got time ter waste? Think I be a sluggard like yerselves, ’n’ yon lot aboard ship? Snip-snap, then! Toss them cases under the seat, ’n’ give the lass a hand-up. I’ve aired me poor ’orse long enough, I thank ’e.”
“‘Her ladyship’ to you, twiddlepoop, so mind yer tongue,” growled one of the two sailors who had brought Adriana ashore.
“Twiddlepoop, is it? A fine way to address a man of important affairs, such as myself. Me name is Flood, m’lady,” he added with a dignified tip of his hat and nod of his head once the second sailor had helped Adriana onto the seat beside him. “Mr. Horace Flood, me acquaintances style me. An’ proud I am t’ be of service to ye. Where will we be a-headin’, if ye please?” When, before replying, she glanced back over her shoulder to thank her two assistants, he snorted, “Leave ’em go. ’Tis beneath yer notice they be, the pair o’ them.”
“I’ll give you notice, Horace Flood,” said one of the sailors menacingly, taking a step back toward the gig.
“Nay, leave go,” said the other. “He’s no use to anyone with his bones all broke. Good day to ye, ma’am. ’Twas a lively trip, this’un, ’n’ no mistake.”
Mr. Flood sputtered in impotent fury while Adriana made her grateful adieux, but when she turned to him contritely afterward and begged his pardon for making him keep his horse standing, he shrugged eloquently, clicked his tongue at the horse, and said, “’Tis all one t’ me, I suppose. Yer direction, ma’am?”
“Lord Clifford’s house in the Steyne,” she said, grabbing hold of her bonnet as the gig leapt forward and began to rattle along the Marine Parade at a rapid pace. “You know it?”
“Out o’ course, I do,” he replied with a sniff of pride. “Guess I knows near about every ’ouse in Brighton. Lived ’ere all me life, I have. Be there in the shake of a lamb’s tail.”
“I suppose the town is as full as it can hold right now,” she said.
“Well, yer out in yer supposin’ then,” he told her. “The place is pretty nigh deserted, thanks t’ the races bein’ over.”
“Dear me, I hope everyone is not gone. I am persuaded Lord Clifford must still be in residence, and Lord Villiers, and perhaps Viscount Alston, as well.”
“Oh, aye, and ’is royal ’ighness be still at the Pavilion, sure enough. Had one o’ ’is ‘select parties’ last night. Laughed m’self fit t’ split atterward.”
Enjoying Mr. Flood hugely, Adriana willingly accepted this broad hint and begged him to tell her what had happened.
“Ye’ll recall ’twas a night as dark as the devil’s backside?” When she nodded, he said, “Well, a gennelman was a-driving ’is tandem up North Street atter enjoyin’ isself at ’is ’ighness’s party, when ’is lead horse, wi’ more spirit than caution, as one might say, endeavored to open a new passageway through a stone wall. Failed, o’ course, ’n’ the gennelman ended up sprawled in the road, a-blessin’ ’is soul an’ askin’ them as came to ’elp ’im up, was ’e ’ome so quick as all that, and would they kindly ’elp ’im to ’is bed?”
Adriana chuckled. “I hope the horse was unharmed.”
“Just a mite dizzy, me lady. Here we be on the Steyne now. That be Lord Clifford’s ’ouse on the right ahead.”
She was glad to see that few people were about. The sky was still overcast, which perhaps accounted for the lack of activity, for it was nearly ten o’clock, and she knew that on a sunny day, the grassy area in the center of the roadway would be filled with strolling ladies and gentlemen and laughing children. The sandy beach would likewise be crowded.
There was a housemaid on the front steps of Clifford House, polishing the brass knocker. As soon as she realized that the gig was drawing to a halt before the house, however, she whisked the rag beneath her apron and disappeared inside.
A moment later, as Mr. Flood, still on his dignity, condescended to step down to the flagway in order to assist Adriana to alight, the door of the house opened again to reveal the porter and a liveried footman. The footman hurried down the steps to the pavement.
“Your ladyship!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, it is I, indeed, William, and you’ve no need to inform me that your mistress is not expecting me. I mean to surprise her. Those two bandboxes beneath the seat are all my baggage. Will you take them for me, please, and see that Mr. Flood is well-recompensed for his kindness in bringing me to you safely?”
“Certainly, Lady Chalford. Her ladyship is in the morning room, ma’am. Mr. Porson will show you the way.”
“Oh, I remember the way,” said Adriana, turning to mount the steps. “I’ll go straight up to her now.”
Lord Clifford’s butler greeted Adriana in the narrow entry hall, nodded when she said she would announce herself, and inquired as to whether she had enjoyed a pleasant journey.
Since he had been a footman at Sarah’s father’s estate in Wiltshire before rising to his present lofty position with Lord Clifford, Adriana had known him for years. She grinned at him. “I had an adventure, Porson, and if you are very good, I shall tell you all about it presently. But now I must find her ladyship and inform her that she has a houseguest.”
The butler shook his head as she turned away, and she had no doubt that if he had a confidant in the house, he would soon be regaling that person with incidents from her childhood that were better left untold. She had litt
le time to think about that, however, for she fairly flew up the stairs to the morning room. Flinging open the door, she beheld her friend, curled up on a brocaded French seat in the window embrasure, framed by yellow satin curtains, sorting through her morning post.
“Adriana!” Sarah’s letters went flying as she leapt to her feet and hurried to hug her visitor. “What on earth brings you here? Has Chalford relented, then? Is he below? Oh, my goodness, you dreadful girl, you might have sent me warning. You are both most welcome, but I needn’t tell you that. Oh, how I wish Mortimer had not already gone out. I believe he has walked down to Donaldson’s Library to read the papers. I can send my page to fetch him in a trice, however, so that needn’t signify.”
“Sarah, Sarah,” Adriana protested, freeing herself with a laugh. “You chatter too much and give no one else a chance to speak. You may leave Mortimer in peace. Joshua is not with me.”
This last announcement effectively silenced Lady Clifford. She stared at Adriana, a myriad of emotions playing across her expressive face. Finally, she said, “Dearest, you haven’t.”
“Haven’t what?”
“Left him, of course. You cannot have done such a thing to such a kind man.”
“I haven’t left him,” Adriana said. “Do sit down, Sarah, and ring for tea or something. I have had no breakfast and I promise you I am starving.”
“No breakfast!” Sarah rushed to tug the bell. “But how is this? Surely, you put up at an inn somewhere for the night. Did they not feed you before you left this morning?”
“I stayed at no inn, Sarah. I was delivered to your door by the drollest little man in a beaver hat and split tails.”
“Mr. Flood! He is quite a personage in Brighton these days. He was used to perform various services for the summer visitors, but since his cousin became a footman in a noble house, Mr. Flood has acquired new habits of dress—his cousin’s master’s castoffs, I daresay—and set himself up as a hackney coachman. I must tell you, dearest, though he would certainly disagree, his gig is not quite the mode of transport one associates with a marchioness, to say the very least of it.”
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