Hareton Hall: Richard and Rose, Book 6

by Lynne Connolly

  “Should you have known?”

  “No, no—I suppose not. What is he here for? The smugglers?”

  “The sudden increase in activity seems to have interested Mr. Fielding in London.”

  Sir John raised an eyebrow. “All that way away? Why should he be interested?”

  “Both of the Fieldings have an interest in developing investigations into various crimes on a more national level. Thieves travel from county to county to avoid being caught, and in many cases, it works. This gang may operate here in Devonshire but their influence extends far beyond that. The goods they bring in find their way over much of the country.”

  “An interesting concept.” Sir John leaned back, the better to meet Richard’s straight stare. “Do you take an interest, sir?”

  “Only in a very small way.”

  I couldn’t discuss anything privately until we lay in bed, later. It often happened that way; we spent a lot of the day together, but usually in the company of other people. It was one of the reasons we only allowed Carier and Nichols to enter our rooms when we were there. Richard needed the privacy, and more and more I found I needed it too.

  “You held back with Sir John.” I moved closer so he could hold me, pillowing my head on his shoulder.

  “So I did.”

  “I’d have been most unhappy if you’d told him.”

  “I can’t think why I’d have done such a thing.” He slid his hand over my waist and snuggled in, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “I had an unaccountable urge to tell him all about Thompson’s. Easily conquered, but strange. I don’t feel like that with anyone else.”

  “Who knows about Thompson’s? Apart from the four of us, I mean?”

  “Gervase and Freddy. Other people suspect—Fielding knows more than he should because of his own sources. And Newcastle. I’ve helped him once or twice in the past. Pitt knows, but I’ve not met him in private, and I’d avoid it.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s too shrewd. He knows too much than is good for him.”

  “Oh.” I ran my hand up his chest, feeling the small, hard, masculine nipples. “Do you believe him?”

  “Who?”

  “Sir John, about the watch?”

  He thought. “Yes—no—to be honest, I don’t know.” He thought again. “On the whole, no. He knew we suspected something, and if he knows anything about quality, he would know something like that is quite rare. It’s an easy story to make up. And in any case, what would he be doing in an area like that?”

  “That occurred to me too. That’s why I asked. Of course, he might have been—you know—”

  He smiled. “Resorting to a house of easy virtue? He might, I suppose. But I still don’t believe him.”

  “Why not?” I felt myself drifting now, slipping into easy sleep.

  He must have noticed, for he reached across to the nightstand and snuffed the only candle left burning in the room. “I don’t know, but I’ll keep watching him. Perhaps it was the way he made a point of looking at me when he told me. Always the sign of a good liar. They’ll meet your look and keep it. Anyway, it might be nonsense. I could be wrong.” He moved farther down the bed so he could hold me tightly and kiss me. “And now, my love, we sleep, yes?”

  I heard his chuckle in response to my murmured “hmmm” and then I fell blissfully asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As far as most people at Hareton were concerned, Richard decided to accompany me on a shopping trip to Exeter in the morning, but we had other business to conduct.

  Mr. Smith was decidedly surprised to see us, but he seemed quite pleased. He received us in a small private sitting room in a respectable lodging house, untidy with papers and books, but clean and decently furnished. The inn he’d chosen wasn’t the best quality, but was nevertheless a good one, and one which I, as Miss Golightly, would have been happy to reside in.

  “Do you expect a good profit from this business, then?” Richard asked. Mr. Fielding’s men usually worked for the rewards and commissions offered with a very small retainer.

  “Some companies in London have offered me rewards for the capture of the ringleaders,” he said. “Even more for a successful prosecution.”

  The way he spoke you could imagine he meant a short term of imprisonment or hard labour. In fact it would most likely be the rope.

  He ordered fresh coffee and bade us all sit. Nichols and Carier stayed by the door, ensuring our privacy. The coffee was brought and poured. Although neither Richard nor I was particularly elaborately dressed, the landlady knew Quality when she saw it, and it took some time to get rid of her. Richard dressed in the English style today, maroon cloth and top boots, but they were of the best and fitted him perfectly. He looked even more like Gervase.

  I sat on the only upholstered chair in the room, a well worn and lumpy old leather armchair. I’d have preferred one of the harder chairs the men used. A small table stood between my chair and Richard’s. On it, he placed the slim Thompson’s folder. He didn’t need to consult it, but Smith might want to see some of the contents.

  “We offered to help you with your problem, and the only caveat is this,” Richard began. “You must try, as far as you can, to keep our name out of this. We have no desire to let our activities be too well known.”

  Smith nodded in understanding. “Of course, my lord.”

  “You may, naturally, take all the credit,” Richard told him with a smile.

  Smith smiled back. “That would be very useful.”

  These two men were completely honest with each other. Society and position meant nothing now, just a common end. I liked John Smith. He didn’t defer for the sake of it, but had respect for Richard’s intelligence and the extra tools he could bring to the case. I knew the Fieldings had recruited men from the underworld as well as respectable citizens to their force, and I wondered which John Smith was. He seemed respectable, but I’d learned that appearance was rarely an indicator of what lay inside.

  “Very well,” said Richard. He leaned back. “We think we know who is behind this new smuggling gang, and where some of its members came from. Our information comes from London, and we need to set enquiries in motion here. You know Whitby, Mr. Smith?”

  Smith frowned, thinking deeply, and didn’t answer for a moment or two. “It’s in the north. And I’ve read something about it—wait…” He thought again, sinking his chin into one hand. Looking up at us, he said, “Smuggling. Whitby is known for it.”

  “So it is,” Richard agreed. “And someone we know from that part of the world has arrived here in Devon.”

  This time Smith stared at Richard, his sharp eyes keen with understanding. “Kneller? Or one of his household?”

  “He did bring a lot of people with him from his home, didn’t he?” Richard said smoothly. “But no—we think Kneller.” He paused. I recalled the shock I’d felt that morning when I’d read the name in the Thompson’s despatches.

  When Richard picked up his empty coffee cup, Nichols came quietly forward and filled it for him. Then she filled mine and John Smith’s.

  Richard continued. “We made enquiries, but because of the distance and the terrible state of the roads, it took longer than usual for the information to reach us.” He sipped his coffee. “Kneller has quite a reputation in the north. For one so young, he certainly has quite a history. His house is near the sea, and for years he kept away from society, getting a reputation as a recluse. Some people said he was sickly—that might well have been true, at one point. In any case, at some stage he threw in his lot with the smugglers thereabouts. About three years ago, my informants tell me.”

  John Smith sat still and quiet, listening. Richard crossed his legs and finished his coffee, putting the cup back down on its saucer with a sharp click. “There’s no proof against him, you understand, nothing at all. What we have is courtesy of those who served in his household and in his neighbour’s. I asked one of them to join us and he should arrive tomorrow. He’ll come as my wife’s g
room, answers to Yale if you should want to speak to him.”

  “I appreciate that, my lord,” John Smith answered. “I’ll be discreet.”

  “I know you will,” Richard said, “or I wouldn’t have told you. Rose will send him into town on an errand, and he may come to see you then. Our employees are free agents. I can’t compel him to do anything, but if you wish him to give evidence against Kneller, you’d do well to leave him to us to protect. Once Kneller finds out we know something, and who from, he’ll try to have Yale removed.”

  “Killed?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. We can look after Yale, send him away again if needful.”

  Smith nodded in agreement. “It’s very good of you to share this with me, my lord.”

  Richard inclined his head, accepting the thanks. “I have no wish to see my wife’s family compromised or disturbed. Especially at this time.” He meant Lizzie’s forthcoming wedding.

  Smith understood. “Of course, my lord. Naturally, I’ll do my best to prevent any disturbance at that time.” He looked at me dubiously. “But should you involve your wife in this? Is this any place for a woman?”

  Richard smiled, a little ruefully. “She insists. In this, as in everything else, we are partners.”

  I could confirm this. “Indeed I have insisted, Mr. Smith. He gave me a share of the company by way of a wedding gift.”

  “A strange wedding gift!” Smith exclaimed. For the first time in this meeting, I saw him smile, the thin crack of his mouth widening on his broad face.

  “Not at all, sir. It was perfect,” I said. Richard had given me a share in the one thing he’d made for himself, the only thing that owed nothing to his family interests or their concerns. It was his to give, and he’d given it, free and clear. Up to that point, he’d owned half of Thompson’s, but now he owned one quarter, and I owned another quarter. Equal partners. “It would bore me to tears if he treated me as a weak, stupid woman. I’m his wife, not a child.”

  Smith smiled. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

  “It’s not necessary, Mr. Smith. But thank you anyway.”

  Mr. Smith shot a sharp glance at my husband. “Could you tell me more about the runs in Whitby, my lord? Is there anything that might help?”

  Richard picked up the folder from the table and opened it, leafing through the contents until he found what he sought. Then he read the report through quickly and looked up. “The last run was particularly disastrous after a long succession of triumphs. The Excise found out that a run was planned and lay in wait. They obtained extra militia and when the goods came ashore, they pounced. Numbers and surprise were on their side for a change. They killed many of the smugglers, captured others and reclaimed the goods. However, Sir John was ready for them. He’d already converted much of his estate into cash and deposited it elsewhere. The house remained, but little else. The Excise had no idea he was involved, so they didn’t go after him. They never knew who the leader was and thought Sir John Kneller a local eccentric recluse, that was all. He left shortly afterwards and came here.”

  Something occurred to me then. “Why couldn’t we find this out before? Why did those first reports say Sir John was a respectable citizen?”

  Richard turned his head to look at me. “I thought that. But he took great pains to distance himself from the smugglers, even allowing the Excise to use his house as a lookout from time to time—never, of course, on a relevant night. At first I merely wanted to establish Sir John’s standing and veracity. The rest of it arrived a day or two later. My enquirer must have gone to the records and his peers first—always a mistake, in my opinion.”

  “Especially with an organisation like yours,” said Smith.

  Richard stood up. “Oh, not an organisation,” he said mildly. “Merely convenience. We own one of the largest register offices for servants in the country, and occasionally one or two of them may do us a service in return. That is all.”

  Smith gave Richard a sceptical glance out of the corner of his eyes, his lips pressed firmly together, but Richard had turned to his valet. “Anything to add, Carier?”

  “No, my lord, I think you covered it all,” he replied.

  I enjoyed John Smith’s expression, gone from sceptical to surprise, the eyes widened now.

  Richard continued, his matter-of-fact tones adding credence to his words. “Most people believe Carier is the prime force in Thompson’s, that my involvement is merely financial. I prefer them to think it.”

  Smith nodded. “I can promise to be discreet.”

  “It would be appreciated.” My husband held out a hand to help me to my feet. We shook hands with Smith and left him to his own thoughts. We had an official outlet, someone who could legitimately clear up the mess after we’d finished.

  We took a hackney carriage to our next destination.

  The house appeared quite ordinary, one of those respectable, solid residences which line the streets of most towns and usually contain solid citizens and their families. We saw nothing to distinguish it from its neighbours. We climbed the modest porch to the front door and knocked. When a man came to the door he let us straight in without waiting for us to give him our cards. We were expected.

  I gave my hat, gloves and short cloak to the servant and looked around. Solid, respectable, just like the outside.

  A servant took us upstairs to the largest room in the house, the main reception room. A servant followed us in with a tea tray while we made our bows. The Cawnton brothers stood to greet us.

  The room was very well furnished, but without any feminine touches. No ornaments, just a clock decorated the imposing mantelpiece, a cheerful fire blazed in the hearth and several well-upholstered chairs were scattered about the room. The colours were darker than was currently fashionable, the paintings unremarkable landscapes. In short, a comfortable, anonymous room.

  This time Richard gave them the folder, minus one or two documents which now reposed in his coat pockets, and let them read for themselves. A silent maid served tea to us and then curtseyed and left. She called me “madam”. I didn’t correct her. I eyed the tea doubtfully. I’d be awash pretty soon.

  Cawnton let out a long, low whistle and swore, then he looked up at me and begged my pardon. I asked him not to consider it. “Kneller!” he said. “The bloody bastard! Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” Richard told him calmly. “Our sources are unimpeachable.”

  “Dear me!” said Cawnton, remembering, for once, to moderate his expletives. He dropped heavily into the nearest chair. “Kneller,” he said, wonderingly. “Why I didn’t think to look at the gentry, I don’t know.”

  “The methods, perhaps?” Richard said gently.

  Cawnton turned to look at him. “I thought I’d seen everything with our former partner, but not until I met you did I remember just how the nobs got where they are today.”

  “Yes,” said Richard thoughtfully. “But my action was a result of wrongs done to me, not a wish to turn an illegal profit. I was reacting, not acting.” He glanced at me, and I saw he was remembering that night, and what had gone before, how he’d nearly lost me. I smiled a little in some kind of reassurance, and he turned back to the brothers.

  The younger Cawnton was still reading, going over the papers again, his lips moving silently as he read. The elder stared into space. Richard coughed gently and the elder Cawnton seemed to remember where he was and looked back at him. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “Understandable,” Richard replied. “When I read it this morning it had much the same effect on me. He’s a very plausible young man, to take us all in as he did. When you know, it seems obvious, but we didn’t look properly.”

  “The newcomer to the area,” Cawnton said. “The house full of new servants.”

  The two men stared at each other, their thoughts wholly in accord. “That’s where his men are, then,” Richard said. “What better way to introduce a group of new people? We know of a few others scattered about the district.
How many do you think there are?”

  “I should say no more than thirty,” Cawnton answered.

  “That’s what I thought too,” Richard said. “I won’t ask you how many you have. I can muster twenty without too much trouble, but they’re good, well trained, some from the army. I assume that we can outnumber him?”

  “I think so.” Cawnton looked away and picked up his tea dish, obviously uncomfortable exchanging specifics like numbers.

  “One thing,” Richard said sharply. “I don’t want any of this to surface around the time of my sister-in-law’s wedding. If he acts, then we must respond, but otherwise I don’t want any upset at that time.”

  “Understandable. We don’t have anything planned for that time.”

  I marvelled at how disposable Richard’s title seemed to be, and how little he cared or even noticed. His eyes shone with intelligence and calculation. His pose had nothing of the fashionable exquisite about it. He leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair and supported his chin on his hand, gazing at Cawnton. He would be outstanding anywhere, under any circumstances, I thought, but then, I was biased.

  “Could you plan a fake run?” I said.

  Three heads turned and regarded me in silence. I refused to be unnerved. “Announce it. I’m sure you have codes and suchlike—I’ve seen the twigs of broom outside certain cottages on certain days. Can’t you get a message to them that this is not a real run—that they’re to let people know? Then we can join forces and get rid of them. Somewhere quiet by the coast, away from the houses. What about by the ruins of Hyvern House, somewhere like that?” I carried on recklessly. “You only need to show them what we can muster and they might well go away and look somewhere else.” I stopped, feeling that I was beginning to babble.

  I concentrated on Richard. A slow smile spread across his face. “Wonderful. Whatever did I do without you?”

  “It could be done,” said the elder Cawnton. He addressed his brother. “We can spread that in a day or two, can’t we?”

  “No problem,” said the younger brother confidently. “The sooner the better, I say. When?”