Secrets in the Mist

by Anna Lee Huber

  When I stepped across the threshold into the kitchen, Mrs. Brittle was waiting for me, perched on her usual chair at the table. She cradled a cup of tea between her hands, waiting for me to join her. I didn’t try to demur. I no longer wanted to.

  Sinking into the chair across from her, I accepted the cup she poured for me, though I didn’t drink it. I stared into the amber liquid, surprised by its deep color. Apparently this night’s events called for fresh tea leaves instead of the batch from breakfast we normally reused throughout the day to stretch our resources. I wondered momentarily what the leaves at the bottom of my cup would foretell about my future. Mrs. Brittle had once earned a small side income from reading tea leaves for the local villagers as well as my family and our guests, but since my mother’s death she had refused to indulge in any tasseography, no matter the sum offered.

  “Where is Father?” I murmured into my cup.

  “In his study. The pigheaded man refused to gae up to ’is bed.” She paused and I glanced up into her narrowed eyes. “At least ye come by that trait honestly.”

  I didn’t refute her. I was too busy trying to form the words to ask her what I really wanted to know. In the end, words weren’t necessary.

  Mrs. Brittle’s jaw softened, and she reached across the table to pat my hand. “He’ll live, lass.”

  I swallowed. “Yes, but…” Again I was at a loss. “Did I…”

  “He’ll no’ remember, lass. Ye ken that as well as I do.”

  I nodded, dropping my gaze to my cup again. Such a reminder did not blunt the sting of my guilt, but it would assuage it in time.

  Mrs. Brittle let me ruminate a moment longer, taking a drink of her tea before setting it aside with one last sip at the bottom, as always. I supposed she was worried what she would see. “Noo, are ye goin’ to tell me what ye’ve been hidin’?”

  I sighed. “I’ve joined a crew of smugglers.”

  I expected shock or disappointment, but she made no discernable reaction. “Ingles’ crew?”

  I shook my head.

  She stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain.

  “They’re the men who have been masquerading through the marsh as Lantern Men.”

  Her mouth tightened. “The one who’s been visitin’ our dock?”

  I stiffened. How had she known about that? “Yes,” I admitted hesitantly.

  She didn’t speak for a long moment, and I struggled not to squirm under her sharp gaze. That a scolding was imminent there was no doubt, and yet it was a relief not to have to keep this secret to myself any longer. Little as I’d wanted to embroil her in such a sordid business, it was somehow reassuring that she now knew.

  And then she surprised me again.

  Her eyes hardened into dark beads. “Curse yer da! If he’d taken care o’ ye as he was s’posed to, ye’d never have had to sully yersel’ wi’ such nonsense.” She shook her head. “Yer mam would be sore ashamed o’ him.”

  “And me?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  Mrs. Brittle’s voice lowered. “Lass, yer mam kens well enough ye’ve done all ye could. She wouldna have expected this much o’ ye. But she canna condemn it, neither.”

  I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat, so I nodded.

  “Have ye heard from yer grandda or yer great-aunt?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not yet.”

  She sat back in her chair with a sigh. “Well, I s’pose ye canna change yer mind noo, even if ye wanted to.”

  “No. I’m already too entangled.”

  Her mouth firmed. “Then show me what changes ye’ve been tryin’ to make to that dress upstairs. I think ye’ve butchered it enough.”

  I couldn’t stop the small smile that curled my lips. I should have known better than to try to conceal anything from Mrs. Brittle. She saw all. She probably knew about Robert’s marriage proposal, too. But I wasn’t about to broach that subject on the chance that she didn’t. In any case, I needed her help with the gown immediately if I was to have it ready in time for the Longshore’s impending arrival.

  “I’ll just go fetch it,” I told her, rising from my seat. Then on an impulse, I turned back and leaned over to peck the old woman on her leathery cheek.

  She scowled and shooed me toward the door. “Gae on wi’ ye noo.”

  I smothered a laugh as I hurried out of the kitchen.

  Chapter 21

  I

  did not retire that night until the wee hours of the morning. It had taken me and Mrs. Brittle several hours to finish the dress alterations I had quite honestly made a hash of. And as it turned out, I had needed her help even more badly than I could have realized, for I received a hastily scrawled missive from Jack at dawn. The Longshore was expected to make port that day. A quick glance at the clock told me I had only minutes to prepare before I was expected to meet him at our dock.

  I scrambled to wash, dress my hair, and don the oversized gown Mrs. Brittle and I had fashioned to accommodate the hidden pockets sewn inside. It had to be roomy enough to obscure the items I would conceal, yet conform to a womanly shape. My pale blue pelisse with matching epaulet trim and buttons would help hide the loose fit of the jonquil dress fabric as I boarded the ship. So long as the day did not grow so warm that such a garment drew too much attention. My mother’s brooch would have complemented the ensemble, but I left it behind, worried what would happen to it should anything go wrong.

  I snatched up my best bonnet, a rather plain affair with a crown barely tall enough to accommodate my thick hair, and dashed downstairs. Father’s study door was still closed, but I had no time to worry about him. With any luck he would stay hidden until I was gone.

  Mrs. Brittle pressed a cloth-wrapped parcel into my hands as I hurried through the kitchen. “Some cheese and apples,” she informed me. “Ye mun’ have somethin’ to break yer fast. I’ll no’ have ye faintin’ from hunger and givin’ yersel’ away.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Aye, aye. Noo oot wi’ ye.” She pulled open the door for me, but then stopped me with a hand on my arm. “But tell that scoundrel should any harm come to ye, I’ll track ’im doon mesel’.” She squinted up at me and leaned closer. “I may be old, but I’m crafty. And I’m sure to die afore they could ever hang me.”

  In the face of her vehemence, all I could do was nod.

  Jack leaned against one of the posts, already waiting for me when I pushed through the marsh grasses out onto the dock. I was momentarily startled by how dashing he looked dressed in the attire of a gentleman farmer. His dark green cropped riding coat and gray breeches fit him quite well. And quite comfortably.

  All sorts of questions formed in my head.

  He straightened when he noticed my approach, returning his hat to his head. His eyes roamed up and down my frame. I knew he was only inspecting the suitability of my attire for the task at hand, but my breath quickened anyway.

  “Well done,” he murmured. “Suitable, but not notable. Just as we requested. And the pockets?”

  “There are six. All well-hidden.”

  He stared down at me in approval. “Then let’s be on our way.”

  I pressed a hand to my stomach, hoping to calm the nerves fluttering there. I didn’t pause to allow myself to contemplate the implications of what I was about to do. There had been enough of that in the past few weeks. I had set myself on this course and I would see it through. What lay at the end of it, I didn’t know, but I would find out soon enough.

  Jack helped me into the boat and then settled into the rhythm of rowing, the shoulders of his fitted coat straining with each motion. Hoping to divert my attention, I glanced over my shoulder at the box I’d spied when I took my seat, wondering what was inside.

  “Open it.”

  I looked up at Jack uncertainly.

  His eyes flashed with amusement. “Go on.”

  I set aside my breakfast and carefully lifted the package onto my lap. It was relatively light, and when I opened the lid and looked inside I sa
w why.

  I gasped. It was a bonnet, a lovely tall-crowned bonnet covered in Maria Louisa blue satin and trimmed with crepe and bunches of white auriculas. It looked just like the hats featured in the fashion plates from one of Kate’s most recent issues of La Belle Assemblée.

  “I’m glad now I chose that blue. It should match your pelisse quite smartly,” Jack said.

  I couldn’t speak. This was the nicest thing anyone had given me in years, and all I could do was stare down at it. I knew he hadn’t gifted it to me out of the goodness of his heart, that its true purpose was to aid in the smuggling, but my hand still shook slightly as I reached in to finger the smooth satin on the crown.

  I doubted the other smugglers, including Himself, had contributed to its purchase, which meant Jack had paid for the bonnet with his money. My pride smarted at the realization he had known I didn’t own such a hat, even though I had not told him so after he suggested I wear one. Of course, it wouldn’t have been difficult to guess. If I could afford new bonnets I wouldn’t have trapped him and demanded to join his band of smugglers in the first place.

  “Try it on,” Jack urged, showing no sign he recognized I was struggling to control my emotions. Still, I didn’t dare look at him, lest his eyes show any tenderness or sympathy. Either might undo me.

  I swallowed and reached up to remove my old bonnet from my head and smoothed back my hair. Then I slowly lifted the confection from the box and placed it over my tightly upswept curls. It smelled of lavender, likely because of the few crushed stems nestled amongst the paper that had cushioned the bonnet. Which told me that this hat had not been purchased from any ordinary milliner, but from one of the best shops in Norwich, perhaps even in Bond Street in London.

  I looked up at Jack. Who exactly was he?

  He studied my features. “It suits you.” Dipping his oars back in the water, he pulled hard to propel us forward again. “And it will provide you with an additional place to conceal contraband.”

  I nodded, grateful for the reminder that this wasn’t some friendly gift. But still I thanked him, feeling it would be inconsiderate not to.

  He shrugged it off.

  “I’ll take good care of it,” I murmured, rolling a loose thread on the trim of my pelisse between my fingers. “And return it when my task is complete.”

  Jack shook his head. “No. It’s for you to keep.”

  I glanced up in surprise.

  “I have no use for it.” His mouth firmed. “Besides, you might have need of it again.”

  For another smuggling job. Of course. After all of the unsettling things I’d experienced this week, the thought of more such operations seemed daunting. So I turned aside to stare out at the marshes, trying not to think of it. The future would keep for a little while longer.

  Thin, wispy clouds trailed across the morning sky, as if drifting across the surface of a lake, too lazy to form anything more substantial. Yellow Flag irises speckled the tall grasses to the west, their bright blooms lending a bit of much-needed color to the landscape. A sudden plopping sound and a cluster of rings forming on the water told me a water vole had just dived below the surface, disturbing the pair of white waterlilies floating nearby. This early in the day, the air was still fresh with dew and new grass. I breathed deep, trying to calm my nerves. I had to admit, the Longshore couldn’t have picked a lovelier day to reach port.

  Jack skillfully guided the boat into a larger channel, staring over his shoulder at the waterway ahead of us a bit longer than seemed necessary, but perhaps something was floating in our path.

  Then I saw it—the top of a wherry boat’s distinctive high-peaked sail rising up over the reeds. I tensed at the sight, even though I should have been expecting it. Jack and I couldn’t row all the way to Yarmouth.

  As we rounded the bend, I could see Harry, Freddy, Dibs, and Red Beard—who I had since learned was called Rory—lounging against the canvas stretched across the hold at the center of the ship. I didn’t ask what was stored underneath; I knew better. But I was curious. Was it legitimate cargo, or something they intended to smuggle out? Given the brazen manner in which I was about to retrieve a load of contraband, it seemed foolhardy to attempt to export smuggled goods as well, but I had no way of knowing how reckless this crew could be. Certainly they were willing to take steep risks.

  I eyed the men warily as we approached, for none of them looked happy. I learned why when Rory reached across to help me onto the boat. The whites of his eyes were nearly as red as his beard, and he smelled as if he’d taken a bath in gin. Apparently, they had not been expecting the Longshore to arrive in Yarmouth today and so had made free with the strong Geneva in their possession the night before.

  I did not comment on their slovenly appearance. They were acting their part as wherry men. It mattered little how they looked. Jack and I were the ones with other roles to play.

  I skirted around the edge of the deck to the bow of the boat, deciding it would be best to sit quietly out of the way while the men worked rather than risk aggravating any of their fragile tempers. Freddy stepped down into the skiff Jack had collected me in and rowed away as the wherry boat set off. For the most part they all ignored me. Jack and Harry stood near the stern, while Rory and Dibs slumped against the cargo on either side of the boat, occasionally rousing themselves when the sail needed adjusting.

  Under the circumstances, I was grateful to be left to my own silent contemplation. I was finding it difficult enough to maintain my veneer of calm without having to modulate my voice and consider my words. I tried my best to pretend I was simply on my way to Yarmouth to do a bit of shopping—the story I had been ordered to tell should anyone ask while we were traveling into or out of the town. Not that I was to talk unless absolutely necessary. Instead, Jack would explain my presence, pretending to be my husband.

  However, once we reached Yarmouth the story changed, and I was on my own. That was what made me nervous. No one would be accompanying me onto the Longshore, and if anything should go wrong then there would be no one to rely on but myself.

  We glided silently down the river, past where it joined with the River Waveney and across the expanse where it broadened into the lake of Breydon Water. The crumbling walls of the old Roman fort at the village of Burgh Castle were visible along the south shore, as were the imposing white turrets of Waveney Hall, glimmering in the distance. Then just as quickly as the waterway had widened, it narrowed and turned sharply south. Great Yarmouth stretched along the water on both sides, but predominately to the east, between the river and the North Sea beyond.

  I occupied myself with observing the buildings we passed—the shops with their windows gleaming in the sun, cozy homes built of brick and flint, and tall church spires pointing up toward Heaven as if to reach out and touch it. The people strolling the quay and sailing by on similar wherry boats paid us little heed. We were just another vessel come to town to deliver goods and collect a shipment from one of a number of large cargo ships docked offshore in the deeper water.

  I strained my neck as we passed one particularly splendid row of buildings, wishing I truly had time to wander the streets of Yarmouth. Before she’d fallen ill, my mother had insisted on making biannual trips to Norwich. Oh, how I had looked forward to those excursions. We would return home, our carriage filled to the brim with boxes and packages, while I cradled some new doll or toy or book in my lap. But it had been years since I’d ventured farther than our small village. It turned out trips to town weren’t all that enjoyable when you had no money to spend.

  Even though my pockets were still to let, my legs physically itched with the desire to stroll Yarmouth’s streets. To pretend my reticule was filled with guineas I hadn’t yet decided how to spend.

  I clenched my hands into fists and turned away, only to see Harry approaching. I stiffened and glanced toward the stern where Jack stood watching us. Harry and I had never warmed to each other. In fact, I suspected Jack had been keeping us apart as much as possible. However,
this appeared to be one occasion where such an intervention was not forthcoming.

  “Here,” Harry growled, pressing in close to me. I leaned away, even as I heard the clink of something dropped onto the edge of the hold where I perched. The corner of his lips curled upward in an ugly smirk as he reached up to pretend to adjust the sail. Should anyone from shore be watching us, they would see nothing out of the ordinary.

  I reached down to touch the two canvas pouches.

  “The smaller one is to get ye to the ship an’ back,” Harry explained. “An’ a bit for a bribe, if’n ye need it.”

  I swallowed. “And the larger one?”

  “Give it to Captain Haywood on the Reliance.” His eyes hardened. “No one else.”

  Something in his tone of voice made my senses sharpen. I gripped the bag tighter, feeling the crinkle of paper next to the solid bulk of coins. “What is it?”

  His nostrils flared as he risked leaning closer to me. “No’ yer concern.”

  I frowned, wanting to argue, but I knew it would be no use. Harry didn’t care that I was risking my neck, quite literally. He would probably rejoice to see me caught, if it didn’t mean jeopardizing the exposure of their entire crew. He didn’t trust me. None of the men did, except perhaps Jack. And while I couldn’t fault him for his suspicion, I did curse it. The paper inside the bag was probably something as simple as banknotes or a letter of instructions, but he would refuse to share that just to be contrary.

  I slipped the bags into my reticule.

  “Yer also to give ’im a message.”

  I tilted my head in annoyed expectation.

  “Greybar twenty-three.”

  My brow furrowed. Clearly, that wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me.

  “Did ye hear?” Harry asked impatiently when I didn’t respond.

  “Yes. Grey—”

  He held up a hand to forestall me. “Don’t repeat it. To anyone.”

  There was a ferocity in his voice I had not heard before, and it unsettled me. All I could do was nod.