“For any evidence of his cargo ,” Harry said.
“And he saw the brooch…when?” Edmond frowned. “It’s not as if Madeline was wearing it at the festival where anyone could have seen it. How would some blackguard have sighted it—especially enough to recognize it?” He focused on Gervase’s face. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? That someone saw it and knew it was from his lost cargo.” Edmond looked at Harry. “But we didn’t show it to anyone—not even Aunt Muriel—before we gave it to Madeline. And she only wore it at her party—”
“And then at Lady Felgate’s ball.” Solemn and somber, Gervase nodded. “You’re right. We know everyone who was at Madeline’s party—we’ve known them for years. It wasn’t anyone there. But Lady Felgate’s ball was attended by almost everyone on the peninsula—”
“Including people who aren’t from around here,” Harry put in. “People who are visiting for the summer with local families.”
“Exactly. There’s no saying who might have noticed the brooch, and the person involved might not even have attended the ball—someone might have mentioned the brooch to them later.” Gervase grimaced. “It’s such a unique piece, even a vague description would be enough for someone who was familiar with it to recognize it.”
“But we told Madeline we bought it from that peddler,” Edmond said. “No one but you knew we’d found it on the beach.”
“And I didn’t tell anyone.” Gervase frowned, then pulled a face. “The person looking for the lost cargo was at the festival, of course. He would have checked with all the peddlers—the most obvious source for recently washed-up items. When asked where she got the brooch—and untold ladies at the ball did ask—Madeline said you’d given it to her for her birthday and that you’d found it at one of the peddlers’ stalls at the festival. But our man knew that wasn’t true, ergo you three were lying—which to his mind would mean you had found his lost cargo.”
“So…” Harry’s voice died; he stared at Gervase. “Is it someone from London who’s kidnapped Ben?”
Pure instinct had prompted him to suggest the barrier on the London road; Gervase wryly noted his instincts were still sound. “Most likely, but we can’t assume they’ll take him to London. I just wanted to ensure they don’t take him out of the area—at least not easily. The London road was the obvious one to block. The authorities will search all carriages and conveyances of any sort, so if they do try to take him away…hopefully, we’ll prevent that.” Given the time lapse between when Ben was seized and when the roadblock would go up, if the villains had started for London immediately, they might slip past before the barriers were in place.
Gervase pushed the thought aside; he had to concentrate on what he could do, what he could achieve. And Ben being taken to London was a long shot.
“Let’s try to think like our villain. He’s lost his cargo, sees—or learns of—the brooch, realizes you three found it somewhere. He wants to know where, so he grabs Ben—or arranges to have him seized—reasoning that being the youngest, he’s the most likely to tell him what he wants to know without fuss.”
Harry snorted. “He’d have been better off grabbing me. Ben’s the most stubborn of us all.”
Edmond nodded. “He’ll probably lie—send the man off to some other beach.”
Gervase blinked. If Edmond had so immediately thought of that, there was a good chance Ben would, too. “All right. Let’s say Ben tells the man he found the brooch somewhere—either the right beach, or another.”
“What will they do with Ben?” Harry rushed to ask.
Gervase hid his reaction, but then he thought further…. “Actually, it’s most likely they’ll set Ben free. They won’t consider him any real threat. They’ll leave him somewhere out of the way, far enough so he can’t raise any dust until they’ve recovered the cargo and are long gone. There’s no reason they should harm him—easy enough to make sure he doesn’t know anything that might identify them, not once they get away from here.”
The easing of Edmond’s and Harry’s tension was obvious. They breathed more easily.
“How is our villain going to recover his lost cargo?” Gervase posed the question. One flash cove, most likely from London, was in the neighborhood, most likely in the pay of their villain. How many more of his ilk might be around? Regardless…“Once Ben tells him a location, he’s going to go searching, digging in the sand.”
Gervase rose, glanced around. “Are there any maps in here?”
“Yes.” Edmond hurried to a low shelf, pulled a large folio free, then lugged it to the desk.
Gervase and Harry gathered around as Edmond opened it and spread out a large map of the peninsula. “Show me which beach it was,” Gervase demanded. “How close to Lowland Point?”
“Right there.” Harry put his finger on a spot immediately north of the headland.
Gervase glanced at the Manacles, marked as a line of jagged teeth to the right of the beach in question. “All right. If Ben tells them the truth, our man will go to that spot. He might well bring others with him to do the digging and any carting, but he will come himself—he’ll want to see his cargo retrieved.”
For a moment, he stared at the map, then he glanced at Harry, caught his eye. “We need to keep a watch on that beach. If Ben does send them there, we need to catch whoever comes to dig up the lost cargo. I’m going to put you in charge of a group of your men—all from here so they’ll look to you for command. I want you to take the men to the right stretch of beach and keep a watch over it—you know how to hide in the caves, and along the cliffs. Stay out of sight unless our villain or his henchmen arrive—they’ll almost certainly not be locals. Then…you’ll have enough men to capture them.”
Harry swallowed. He held Gervase’s gaze, then nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
“Don’t worry.” Gervase clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll have your head stableman and others you know with you.” He turned to Edmond. “You’ll need to ride with Madeline and the rest of us to show us exactly where Ben was when last you saw him.”
Gervase glanced one last time at the map, then turned to the door. “Right—let’s get going.”
The boys fell in on his heels. They returned to the front hall; swiftly, Gervase made arrangements with Milsom, with the older man’s help selecting experienced men as well as a few eager young stalwarts for Harry’s “troop.”
Milsom retreated to dispatch a footman to ferry his orders to the stables. As Gervase turned back to the boys, Edmond asked, “Ben is going to be all right, isn’t he?”
Madeline hurried down the stairs in time to hear the question. After dispatching her last note—the one to the castle—she’d rushed upstairs to pull her riding trousers on under her walking dress—no time to change gowns—then she’d stopped in Muriel’s room to explain. Her aunt napped in the afternoons when she could; she’d been horrified, but had borne up under the strain, relieved—as Madeline was—to know that Gervase was there and helping.
Now, hearing Edmond voice her own fearful question, she felt her heart contract, felt herself wait, breath bated, for Gervase’s answer.
He’d heard her footsteps; he turned, met her eyes, then smiled gently, reassuringly. He turned back to Edmond, looking down into her brother’s face. “The most likely thing to happen is that after Ben gives them a location for where you found the brooch, they’ll leave him somewhere, trussed up so he can’t raise the alarm while they come to search for the rest of the lost cargo. There’s no reason for them to harm him. Once we catch them, we’ll be able to learn where they’ve left him.”
Madeline felt her eyes widen. “Brooch? Lost cargo? ” Clearly she’d missed something major.
Gervase met her eyes. “I’ll explain all on our way. We have to get moving.” He glanced at Harry. “Harry’s leading a band of your men to keep watch on the beach where they found your brooch.” He caught her gaze, clearly willing her not to slow them with more questions, to trust him. “Can you fetch a shirt of Ben’s, or a n
eckerchief? Not something washed but something he’s recently worn next to his skin. It’ll give the dogs his scent. Two pieces would help—Charles has two dogs and we might want to send them in different directions.”
Drawing in a huge breath through the vise clamped about her lungs, lips thin, she nodded. “I’ll get them.” Turning, she hurried back up the stairs.
Behind her she heard Gervase repeating orders to Harry, calm and certain, reassuring in his clarity.
She swept into Ben’s room; it took but a moment to sort through the pile of dirty linen flung in a corner. Selecting a shirt he’d worn the day before, and his nightshirt, she rushed back into the corridor, paused, then, bundling the linens up in one arm, she ran to her own room.
The brooch—how the devil was it linked with all this?—lay on her dressing table. She swiped it up, stared at it as it lay on her palm; she couldn’t believe it was worth anyone’s life, certainly not Ben’s, but…if the men who had kidnapped Ben were after it, she’d trade it in a blink.
Stuffing it into the pocket of her dress, feeling it heavy against her thigh, she raced out of the door and headed for the stairs.
She clattered down to find Gervase and Edmond waiting for her. Muriel had come down and was standing with them.
“Take care—all of you,” Muriel said. “And bring Ben back.”
Madeline swooped and kissed her cheek as she passed. “We will.”
She met Gervase’s eyes. He nodded. “Let’s ride.”
Outside they found a milling crowd, all mounted. She saw Harry conferring with Simpkins, their head stableman, then Harry called the group about him to order. He glanced back, once, at her, raised his hand in a salute, nodded to Gervase, then led his small band off.
Madeline stared at his back as he rode down the drive.
“Here. Mount up.”
She turned to find Gervase holding Artur’s head. “Oh—thank you.” Shaking her wits into order, she stuffed Ben’s clothes into the saddle pocket, then shoved her boot in the stirrup, grasped the saddle and swung up to Artur’s back.
The instant she had her reins in hand, Gervase turned to his gray and mounted. He nudged the huge horse close, then lifted his head to address the others. “Straight to Helston by the best route. If we get separated, we’ll meet outside the Scales & Anchor.”
Murmurs of acknowledgment sounded all around.
Gervase nodded at her. “Lead off.”
She swung Artur’s head for the gate and loosened his reins.
They were galloping by the time they cleared the gates at the end of the long drive; glancing around, she noted Gervase keeping an eye on Edmond, but he soon saw there was no need and pushed forward to ride alongside her.
“They can ride as well as I do,” she called.
He nodded. “So I see.”
“So what’s going on?”
He glanced back, then called to her, “You and I are going to outdistance everyone else. We’ll be waiting for them in Helston—I’ll explain everything then.”
Regardless of all else, even her own understanding, she wanted Ben rescued as soon as possible. So she nodded, and looked ahead. And urged Artur on.
Chapter 16
They gathered outside the Scales & Anchor, a crowd large enough to fill the street. Abel Griggs and his lads joined them, as did many of the local men and boys. It was early evening when Gervase organized the assembled multitude into groups and sent them out searching, quartering the town, spreading outward from the old docks where Ben had last been seen.
Leaving Abel installed on the bench outside the Scales & Anchor to receive any reports, Gervase took Madeline’s arm and together they walked swiftly to the mayor’s house, a short distance away.
“Good gracious!” Mr. Caldwell, the mayor, was shocked by their news. “Of course you must search. Do you have enough men? We could call out the militia—entirely appropriate in such a case.”
Gervase inclined his head, acknowledging the offer. “No need as it happens, not because we can’t use the men, but because most have already joined us.”
“Good, good.” Short and tending toward rotund, Mr. Caldwell bobbed his head, looking stunned. “Shocking thing, to have a youngster kidnapped.”
“Indeed.” Taking Madeline’s arm, Gervase eased her away—before Caldwell started speculating on Ben’s plight, something Madeline didn’t need to hear. “If you’ll excuse us, we must get back to the search.”
“Of course, of course!”
With a nod, her face expressionless, Madeline turned away and let Gervase lead her down the path and back into the street. Her features were set; she felt locked away inside herself, as if everything were happening at a distance, yet she knew that it was real, the here and now.
She knew Ben had been kidnapped and was in danger.
Gervase had explained all she hadn’t known while they’d waited for the others outside the inn. In large measure the explanation was incidental; to her, the only thing that mattered was Ben—finding him, rescuing him, safe and unharmed.
Her detachment, she was beginning to realize, was a boon.
If she thought about the situation too much, let possibilities form and take shape, panic welled and threatened to overwhelm her, to sink her mind in a morass of emotions, but with Gervase beside her she could hold back the black tide and function as she needed to—as Ben needed her to.
Gervase’s hand tightened over hers on his sleeve. “One thing at a time—that’s how to approach this.”
Her gaze on the pavement ahead of them, she nodded.
The sound of clattering hooves, deep woofs and a sudden hail had them both looking up. Two riders were walking their horses up the street, a gentleman and a lady, with two huge hounds ranging alongside, drifting from one side of the road to the other, scenting this, then that.
Drawing rein just ahead of them, the riders dismounted, the lady kicking her feet free of her stirrups and sliding down before the man could assist her. He glanced at her, then, his reins in one hand, came forward. Smiling. “The old tar outside the inn said you’d come this way.”
Gervase’s lips lifted; he shook hands with the gentleman, then turned to Madeline. “Charles St. Austell, Earl of Lostwithiel, and his wife, Lady Penelope. The Honorable Miss Madeline Gascoigne.”
Madeline forced a weak smile and shook hands.
“Just Charles,” the gentleman said, squeezing her hand in kindly fashion. He was as tall as Gervase, but black-haired, with large dark eyes; beyond that, they were of similar build, and shared the same elusive sense of intentness, of being very much alert and aware, even when relaxed.
“You must be quite frantic with worry.” Lady Penelope, a willowy blonde with a look in her gray eyes that said she was not to be trifled with no matter what her husband might imply, took both Madeline’s hands in hers and smiled understandingly. “And do call me Penny.” She looked at Gervase. “So we’re here—the dogs are here. I suggest we make a start so we can find this young lad.”
Charles flashed Madeline a grin. “She’s a bossy sort.”
Madeline raised her brows. “In that case, she and I will get along famously.”
Penny chuckled. “Indeed.”
The dogs pressed close, one on either side of Charles and Penny, looking up at Gervase and Madeline with great canine grins, as if they, too, were eager to get on.
“I brought two pieces of Ben’s clothing,” Madeline said. “Things he’s recently worn. I left them in my saddle pocket.”
“Our horses are at the inn,” Gervase said. “We can start from there.”
They walked quickly back to the inn, dogs and horses in tow. Madeline noticed Penny glancing at her trousers, visible beneath her gown’s hem given she was striding along.
Penny was striding, too; although a few inches shorter than Madeline, she was taller than most ladies. As they reached the archway leading into the inn yard, Penny caught Madeline’s eye. “I confess I’m intrigued. I assume you ride astride? How
do you find others take to the trousers?”
Madeline’s smile was wry. “I’ve been wearing them—usually under a riding dress—for more than a decade, so everyone around here has grown used to the sight. But I have to ride a lot, and this is Artur”—she gestured as she led them to where the big chestnut stood tied to a rail—“so a sidesaddle isn’t really an option.”
“Oh, but he’s a beauty.” Penny stroked Artur’s long nose, appreciatively cast her eye down his length. “Powerful, too.”
Madeline nodded as she pulled Ben’s clothes from her saddle pocket.
Beside them, Charles nudged Gervase. “We’re redundant.”
“Not for long.” Madeline turned with the clothes. She offered them to Charles. “How do you want to do this?”
After consulting with Gervase, Charles elected to put both dogs on leashes. He pulled the long leather strips from his saddlebags. “We don’t want them finding the scent and then racing too far ahead of us. If your brother’s on his own, he might get a nasty shock to see these two charging toward him.”
“They won’t hurt him,” Penny put in.
“But they won’t be very friendly toward anyone who’s with him, regardless of whether they’re friend or foe.” Charles finished fastening the leashes; he handed one to Penny. “Let’s go to this bench he was last seen sitting on and start from there.”
They did. Abel stayed on outside the inn, but those searchers who had returned—all with no news—followed Charles, Gervase, Penny and Madeline down to the old docks. The shadows were starting to lengthen. The tavern was deserted; all the patrons were helping with the search.
Charles had the dogs sit before the bench, gave each a piece of Ben’s clothing to sniff, then he showed them the spot on the bench where Edmond said Ben had been sitting. Both dogs sniffed, milled, danced—looked up at Charles expectantly; this was clearly a game they knew. “Find,” Charles said.
Instantly both dogs put their noses to the ground, turned, and headed back along the dock, then up a street that ran roughly parallel to Coinagehall Street.
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