‘Those are not my main concerns. Why did you not tell me who she was? I learned today that her husband has been murdered. Is she yet another woman whom you seek to use for your own ends?’
Even in the dim light Sophie could see that his face had hardened. ‘It may surprise you to know that I did not seek her out. Nancy came to me.’
Sophie was silent for a time. ‘No, it doesn’t surprise me,’ she said at last.
‘Well, then, what is worrying you? You must believe that she will play her part in apprehending her husband’s murderers.’
‘My dear sir, you told me once that you have no great understanding of a woman’s heart. I must tell you now that you are playing with fire.’
She heard a snort of disgust. ‘Dramatics, Mistress Firle? I can well do without them.’
‘You would do well to listen to me. Nancy is beyond your control. She is obsessed by hatred.’
‘You think that a bad thing?’
‘I can understand it, but I think it dangerous. She could put us all in jeopardy. If she finds the men who killed her husband and robbed her of her unborn child, I shouldn’t like to be responsible for her actions. No words of yours will sway her.’
Hatton regarded her in silence. ‘You may be right,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘I’ll watch her closely.’
Privately, Sophie thought that it would take more than that. Nancy was adept at concealing her true feelings. It had taken another woman to discover them.
‘So you won’t send her away?’ she asked.
‘I think not. If you are right, she might take matters into her own hands and ruin our entire operation. Better to keep her here. Don’t you agree? Of course, if you and she are at daggers’ drawn...?’
‘We are not!’ Sophie told him sharply. ‘I like her very much. I’m sorry only that she is so obsessed. Hatred is the most corrosive of emotions. It harms the person who feels it far more than the object of their loathing.’
‘You are right.’ Hatton sank into the armchair opposite. ‘I have often felt the same. In one way we play into the hands of our enemies by hating them. It can cripple a person for life, robbing them of normal pleasures.’
Sophie was surprised to find that he was in agreement with her. His philosophy was unexpected. She had imagined that this ruthless creature was no stranger to the worst excesses of hatred.
Now she looked down at the sleeping child upon her lap. ‘I must put Kit to bed,’ she said. ‘Will you excuse me, sir?’
‘Let me!’ With astonishing gentleness he took Kit from her, bending so close that his lips almost brushed her cheek.
Sophie turned her head away. For some unaccountable reason she was disturbed by his nearness as an unfamiliar scent of tobacco, clean linen, soap and the outdoors assailed her nostrils. It was not unpleasant, and it stirred long-forgotten feelings in her breast.
What must it be like to feel those massive arms about her once more? The memory of his bruising kiss returned to trouble her. Her response had been immediate. He had sensed it immediately, as he had reminded her. It was humiliating to find that she had so little control over her natural instincts.
Now she held out her arms for Kit, but Hatton nodded to her to precede him from the room. If she tried to argue she would waken the child, so she led the way to Kit’s chamber.
Hatton laid him on the bed, and proceeded to unfasten his shoes.
‘What a family you are!’ he joked, ‘I seem always to be removing shoes from sleeping figures...’
The colour rose to Sophie’s cheeks. ‘There is not the least need for you to do so, sir. I am perfectly capable of undressing my son.’
She was seething with indignation. It was ungallant of him to remind her of the previous night when he’d carried her to her own bed and removed her clothing.
Now he seemed to have read her mind. ‘Forget it!’ he advised. ‘Now, if you’ll lift the lad I’ll slip him out of his coat and breeches.’
He was surprisingly deft and Kit showed no signs of awakening even as Hatton eased him into his nightshirt.
‘There, ma’am!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘You’ll hear no more of him before morning. He has become Reuben’s shadow, and the pair of them are busy from morn till night.’
Sophie hesitated. ‘Your man is very good to him,’ she admitted.
‘Why not? The boy is quick to learn and interested in everything about him. Besides, Reuben has no objection to being regarded as some kind of demi-god.’
Sophie saw the gleam of perfect teeth, and she laughed in spite of herself. ‘I’m afraid he takes up far too much of Reuben’s time, Mr Hatton. I wonder that you allow it.’
‘It is no great problem at the moment,’ he replied with a dismissive gesture. ‘Now, ma’am, since your son is safely bestowed in his bed, I hope that you’ll agree to dine with me?’
Alarm filled Sophie’s head. Had she not decided to keep Hatton at a distance? She searched her mind to think of a plausible excuse to refuse him. She could not plead a previous engagement. The very idea was ludicrous. She had no friends in the locality. Nor had she any transport.
Hatton noticed her indecision. ‘Come, you won’t tell me that you prefer to dine alone? That is bad for the digestion, ma’am. Companionship is essential for full enjoyment—of a meal, I mean of course!’
He was teasing her again, and to her annoyance Sophie found that she was blushing furiously.
‘Quite charming!’ he announced with a twinkle. ‘And rare indeed in a wife and a mother... Naturally, if you feel that you can’t trust yourself to my company I shall understand.’
Hatton was enjoying himself and Sophie determined to give him a sharp set-down. Anything to wipe that infuriating smile from his lips.
‘Were we not agreed that your understanding of women is limited, sir? I shall be happy to dine with you.’
She heard a shout of laughter.
‘What a fib! Unconvincing, my dear, when that look would turn a man to stone. Shall we say at seven, then?’
Sophie could not bring herself to speak. She swept past him with her head held high.
She reached her room to find that Abby had put away all the garments which she had intended to return, leaving out only the bronze gown.
‘I won’t wear that!’ she said. Her tone was sharper than she had intended and Abby looked surprised.
‘Why, ma’am, is something wrong with it? I thought it quite the prettiest of all.’
Sophie saw the girl’s downcast look and was ashamed of her ill-temper. ‘You are right,’ she admitted. ‘The difficulty is that I did not order it. The garments left on the bed were to be returned. There must have been some mistake.’
Abby’s face cleared. ‘I’d keep them if it were me,’ she told her mistress with a mischievous look. ‘Oh, ma’am, you won’t send back the fur-lined tippet? It’s fit for a queen!’
‘And I am not a queen, Abby.’ Sophie was strongly tempted to change into her drab black gown, but she could imagine Hatton’s reaction. He would realise at once that it was a childish attempt to annoy him. She would not give him that satisfaction.
‘You may bring me the blue which is buttoned to the neck,’ she said.
Abby brightened. ‘It will go well with your brooch, Mistress Firle. My, that’s a fine piece of jewellery! Mother says that it’s high time a gentleman took care of you.’
This remark did nothing for Sophie’s state of mind. She was almost tempted into another sharp retort, but she bit her tongue. She walked over to the wash-stand and poured some water into the basin.
‘Is it still hot?’ Abby asked anxiously. ‘Mr Hatton told me to bring it up for six o’clock...’
‘Did he, indeed?’ Sophie’s feelings threatened to overcome her. She washed and dressed quickly. She had had more than enough of Hatton’s arrogance. This evening she would make it clear that she would brook no further interference.
He needed her to help him carry out his plans. He had made that clear enough. She was
beginning to suspect that his threats to turn her out were simply an attempt to ensure her co-operation. Now she sensed that he would never do so.
She couldn’t quite decide why she felt so certain of that fact, but tonight she would test out her belief. The challenge excited her and she made her way to his private parlour relishing the battle of wills ahead.
He was standing by the fireplace, but he turned as she entered the room, immaculate as always in a well-cut coat of the finest broadcloth, snowy linen and tight pantaloons with gleaming Hessian boots pulled over them. He had an excellent leg for the prevailing fashions, she noted grudgingly.
Sophie walked towards him with a smile which would have graced a crocodile, and his eyes narrowed.
‘You are in looks tonight, Mistress Firle. Is this one of Madame Arouet’s gowns?’
‘It is.’ Sophie’s smile did not waver.
Hatton bowed. ‘It is most becoming. The woman is a genius. Don’t you agree?’
‘I do, but sadly, her accounting system leaves much to be desired. I had not ordered more than one half of the goods which I received.’
‘Really? Perhaps it is no great matter, ma’am. Can you make use of them?’
‘Possibly...if I could afford them. Mr Hatton, please don’t try to gammon me. This is your doing, is it not?’
‘I may have suggested a few additions...’
‘You had no right to do so. I won’t accept them, sir!’
‘Very well then, send them back!’ he said indifferently. ‘It does not matter to me.’
Sophie was nonplussed. She had expected a fierce argument.
‘On the other hand, you could pay me for them when this sorry business is ended,’ he continued smoothly. ‘You may find them useful at some later date.’
‘Possibly!’
He had cut the ground from under Sophie’s feet and she knew it. She ground her teeth in frustration. It was impossible to get the better of him.
Now he looked up with pleased anticipation as Abby entered the room bearing a tray. He seated Sophie at the table with his usual formality, and favoured Abby with a smile.
‘I’m starving!’ he announced. ‘What does your mother offer us this evening?’
‘Dressed lobster, sir. It was brought up from the coast today. Mistress Firle will enjoy it—it’s one of her favourites.’
‘Your mother spoils us, Abby, with gourmet foods. How can she top that?’
‘You are to have broiled fowl with mushrooms, Mr Hatton, and then a Celerata cream.’
‘No apple pie?’
Abby looked confused. ‘We finished it off,’ she said timidly. ‘The men were that hungry, but Mother will make another for you if you wish it.’
‘No, you shall not worry her. Let us enjoy the Celerata cream, possibly with some cheese to follow. With that I shall hope to survive till morning.’
As Abby scurried from the room, Sophie gave him a look of reproach.
‘You must not tease her, Mr Hatton. Now she will go back to the kitchen and tell Bess that you are not satisfied with your meal.’
‘I doubt that, ma’am. Bess knows that I appreciate her cooking. I have been at some pains to get her on my side, you know.’
‘I wonder that you bothered.’
‘I had my reasons. Bess’s opinion goes for much among the servants. I’m relying on her to back up my cover story. I wish her to consider me a suitable candidate for your hand...’
‘You ask too much of her, Mr Hatton. With your lack of concern for the properties, it may have escaped your notice that a recent widow would be in mourning for at least a year. Most certainly no lady in that situation would think of offering encouragement to another man...however charming.’ She gave him a smile which would have frozen daffodils.
Hatton grinned at her. ‘Compliments, ma’am? That is a pleasant change. At the risk of causing you some distress, I should inform you that Bess had no time for your late husband. She will not find it strange that you would seek for happiness so soon.’
Sophie glared at him. ‘Have you been gossiping behind my back, and with the servants too?’
‘No, I have not! My information comes from Reuben. Bess does not speak out in front of Kit, of course, but when the child is absent she makes no secret of her opinions. She feels that you were cheated by a man unworthy of you.’
‘Richard’s behaviour was none of her concern,’ Sophie replied stiffly.
‘You are mistaken, Mistress Firle. Your servants are fond of you. They did not care to see you duped. You were kept in ignorance of much that was happening here.’
‘Then why did they not tell me?’
‘Would you have believed them? Loyalty alone would have prevented it, and you say yourself that you will not listen to gossip.’
Sophie was silent.
‘Or was it loyalty?’ he continued inexorably. ‘I find it astonishing that you did not question your husband’s frequent absences, or the reasons for his tolerance of a clientele too dangerous for you to meet them.’
‘He did not say that they were dangerous,’ she replied. ‘Just that they were rough and noisy.’
‘You have not answered my question, ma’am. Perhaps you did not care to know the answer...?’
‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘You shall not blacken his name. He was your own man, after all. I had thought you must be proud of him. He died in a worthy cause.’
‘Your loyalty to a man you did not love is admirable, my dear, but it is misplaced. It is high time you knew the truth. Firle was a double agent.’
Sophie stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she whispered.
‘Then let me explain. He fed us a certain amount of information, most of it useless. However, the information he supplied to his friends was of great value to them. They were warned well in advance of possible seizures, or a long-planned ambush at their landing beaches.’
Sophie felt that her throat had closed. It was almost impossible to breathe. She shut her eyes as the full implications of his words came home to her.
‘You can’t mean it!’ she whispered at last. ‘Do you tell me that he was working with the smugglers?’
‘Beyond a doubt, ma’am. For a time we could not understand why our most secret plans appeared to be known to them. It became clear that we had an informer in our midst. The trail led to your husband.’
‘I can’t believe it! You must be mistaken. Why, that would mean that he was privy to the deaths of some of your own men...his friends...’
Hatton said nothing.
‘I can’t accept that you are right,’ Sophie said more firmly. ‘What possible reason could he have for agreeing to such a betrayal?’
A grim smile crossed her companion’s face. ‘Money, Mistress Firle! His share of the trade would have been substantial, but he must have realised that fortunes were being made by the men who backed the smugglers. I suspect that he tried to blackmail them, and in doing so he signed his own death warrant. They would not have hesitated to remove the danger.’
‘But Richard had no money. We had no carriage and we lived so sparingly...’ Then Sophie remembered the huge sum she had found in Richard’s desk, and her face clouded.
‘Yes?’ Hatton prompted.
‘Why would he need so much?’ she pleaded. ‘I did not ask for it.’
Her pitiful expression wrenched at Hatton’s heart. The girl had courage, but she had borne enough. He would not explain that a womaniser such as Richard Firle would need bottomless pockets to keep his birds of paradise in luxury.
‘Perhaps we shall never know,’ he told her gently. ‘It may be that he hoped to save enough to take you and Kit away from here.’
Tears gleamed upon her lashes, but she shook her head.
‘You don’t believe that, and nor do I. You said that I did not love him. That is true, but I thought I loved him once, and I thought he loved me. I soon learned the truth of it. My father was right. Richard was a fortune-hunter. When my father cast me off he had no
further use for me.’ She bent her head, but Hatton cupped her chin in his huge hand and forced her to look up at him.
‘Don’t fail me now!’ he urged. ‘You have your son to think about, remember?’ He strode over to the bell-pull and summoned Abby. Then he took Sophie’s hands and drew her to her feet.
‘Can I persuade you to sit upon my lap, my dear? I feel that Abby needs convincing of my ardour.’
Sophie was too shocked by his revelations to put up much resistance. It was oddly comforting to feel his massive arms about her, but it was also embarrassing.
‘There is no need, I’m sure...’ she said halfheartedly.
Hatton settled her more comfortably. ‘This is no hardship, ma’am. Of that I can assure you.’
Chapter Seven
As Sophie lay inert within his arms, Hatton showed no disposition to release her, even when Abby had left the room.
She was very pale, and he looked down at her in some concern, aware that she was trembling uncontrollably. He picked her up and moved closer to the fire.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘My apologies, ma’am. Perhaps I should not have told you of your husband’s perfidy.’
‘I prefer to know the truth,’ she whispered through chattering teeth. ‘It’s just that I seem to be so very cold.’
‘That is shock, my dear.’ He reached out a long arm to the tray on the table beside him and poured her a glass of brandy. ‘Drink this! I know you hate the taste, but it will warm you.’
Obediently, she sipped at the fiery spirit. As it coursed through her body she began to regain some semblance of composure. For a time she had seemed to lose all power of thought, but now her mind was racing. Her son was her first concern.
‘Kit must not know of this. Please, I beg that you will never tell him.’
Hatton’s lips tightened. ‘Nothing was further from my mind,’ he said abruptly. ‘No child should carry such a burden.’
Sophie nodded. Then she remembered Nancy. If the girl should ever learn that it was Richard who had betrayed his colleagues...
She shuddered as she recalled the hatred in the girl’s eyes. Revenge was an obsession with Nancy, and who knew where her vengeance might fall? Kit would be an easy victim.
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