Endure My Heart

by Joan Smith

  "You'll drive him out of business entirely,” I answered, trying to control my rising anger, but noticing too how accurate his guess was. His mind worked so much like my own.

  "I hope not. It would be a shame to do that, and miss out on catching him, after all my work. He will only set up business again as soon as I am gone. But he won't stop. He is too bold, too conceited to think I'll catch him. I'll drive him to the wall yet. Oh, by the way—did I tell you I must take a run to London?"

  London was irrevocably linked in my mind with Lady Lucy. Would he go to see her? So precarious was our relationship that I never revealed to him any knowledge of his affair with Lucy, though I could have claimed my aunt as the source of it easily enough. “Will you go to see Lord Hadley?” was the closest I came to it.

  "Yes, it is a business trip,” he answered. Yet surely a baronet did not require to dance attendance on his patron. “Don't mention to anyone when I return. I'll be gone from Wednesday through Saturday, but have not said so or Miss Sage will land a load at the main dock in town during my absence. He becomes brazen enough for anything. Still, I am gaining ground. He had to dump the second last load. If another comes in by that method he wont like it. It is troublesome for him. And me. It would require the dragoons to catch them at that stunt."

  His mind was all on business. There was no teasing, no flattery, but only a peck on the cheek as he left. This despite the fact we were alone together for half an hour in the saloon. I thought over what he had said, after he left, and had to agree he had run me to a standstill. Ganner, when he dropped by one evening, said as much. “No point taking unnecessary chances. He'll be gone soon enough, and you can resume operations."

  Dumping was the only means left. Miss Sage would retire, and let Miss Parsley take over eventually. But for the sake of the men, Miss Sage might as well make use of Wicklow's absence and bring in that profitable load of cognac that fetched such a good price in London.

  Chapter Twenty

  I have had reason to wonder since if Wicklow was testing me, telling me and no one else he would be gone till Saturday. At the time, my only doubt regarding that gentleman was whether he was going to see Lord Hadley, or his daughter. On Friday night, Crites, ever a load behind in his knowledge, was seen to be centering all his attention on Fern Bank. So it was the Eyrie chosen as our landing spot. I foresaw no likelihood of trouble. I sat in the saloon with Edna, doing some embroidery, when the door knocker sounded at ten o'clock.

  Ten is a rather late hour for a social call, yet too early for Jemmie, nor would he come so publicly. The only person I could imagine it to be was Wicklow. My first surge of pleasure had soon turned to fear. He could not be back! He said Saturday!

  It was only Ganner, but with such news! “I just thought you might be interested to hear Sir Stamford is back in town. I was on my way home from taking dinner with the Everetts at the inn, and happened to recognize him jogging down the road toward the Eyrie. He told me he would not be back till Saturday."

  "That's odd. He told me he had put out the story he would be back on Friday, and told only myself he would be here on Saturday. What is he up to, Sir Elwood?"

  "A good question. I don't like the looks of this at all. Why go out of his way to tell the two of us, and no one else, a lie? I believe he has tumbled to it I was involved in the business in the past. Is it possible he knows you have replaced me? I know he has been snooping around at my bank, asking questions that are none of his business. He can prove nothing against me; what we must do is see to protecting you. I suggest very strongly you draw a halt to your work at once. Do you have a load coming in tonight?"

  "Yes."

  "I was afraid of that. He hoped you would do it—that's why he told you he would be away. Is there anything I can do to help you, ma'am? Where is it coming in? It must be burned off."

  "At the Eyrie. If you would be kind enough to drop a note off at the Hesslers', Sir Elwood..."

  "Never mind the note. The Hesslers know all about me. The only ones who do, outside of yourself. Have you another spot in mind, or will you dump it?"

  "We'll have to dump it. Unfortunate, but as Wicklow himself said, it would require the dragoons to catch us when it is being rolled ashore at all hours and in all different places."

  Imagine my chagrin to discover next day the dragoons had been sent down to Salford to trap me! The Prince of Wales’ own regiment, the 10th Light Dragoons. were shipped to Salford for the specific purpose of catching me. The Sun brought out a special edition to welcome them, for the Sun always printed what was proper and never mind whether they meant it. I daresay Sir Elwood saw some prestige to be gained from their presence. I don't know in what manner he made his presence felt vis-à-vis the Sun, for the proprietor and editor (all the same person) is a Mr. Sandy Blair, who has no known connection with Ganner.

  The soldiers were reported to be “on maneuvers,” but for an Army outfit to be executing their maneuvers on the coast in pairs with telescopes lent a very nautical air to the goings-on. No one was fooled, least of all Miss Sage. The only other soul in town who took exception to their presence was Officer Crites. He had not been consulted in the matter. No one ever offered him the help of an entire regiment of dragoons to catch the smugglers. And each of them with one of the prized telescopes! Really I think Wicklow might have got one for Crites while he was about it.

  So there we were, with one hundred barrels of the best brandy made in France under salt water, in danger of going bleachy and becoming worthless. It would cost me a fortune, to pay for it and get no return, for of course the French must be paid whether I got my money or not. The only thing I could think of to do was to have Jem notify Phillips there would be no load for London, which is rather like killing a midge when a tiger is about to eat you.

  As I drove to school Monday morning, my eyes were scanning the spots known to house my gentlemen. It could not be coincidence that each house was guarded by a brace of red-jacketed soldiers. Wicklow knew all my boys, and was taking no chances. They were still there, their postures very little altered, when I returned home in the afternoon.

  They were very gallant—it is an honor to be in the Prince's own regiment, you understand. One could not complain of their manners. Tuesday and Wednesday this farce continued, while nerves stretched taut. The dragoons worked on shifts; night and day the coast was guarded. I sent out word via Jemmie to my men that nothing was to be done about grappling. Then on Thursday a letter arrived that changed everything.

  At last my Aunt Harvey got around to answering my letter. It had been forwarded to her from Devonshire. While I read her brief missive, I saw red—quite literally a red curtain seemed to fall over my eyes, inciting me to a sort of madness. I understand how the bulls feel when they are so aggravated. After a hopeful mention that she would not be reading my name again in the journals linked with smugglers, she got down to the gist of what interested me.

  She had accompanied Lady Lucy to London to meet her fiancé to arrange final details for her wedding, which was to take place in two weeks. The fact of Lady Lucy's being motherless led her to have pity on the girl. This might also be read as the fact of Lord Hadley's being wifeless and my aunt husbandless, but to me of more importance was that Wicklow had been claiming to receive a letter from the ghost of Lucy's mama.

  His “business” in London was now explained—wedding business. His sudden eagerness to trap Miss Sage was all of a piece with the rest. He wanted it done in time for the wedding, successfully done, to put him in line for his promotion. It was at this time that I finally realized the full depths of his depravity. Some little glimmerings of it had surfaced earlier, the night of his return from London, when Ganner and myself spoke of his telling lies to the two of us. He knew Ganner had been Miss Thyme; he also knew I had replaced him. There could be no other explanation. He wanted me to bring in that load, and get caught.

  As well as completing the job he had come to do, it would exonerate him from any moral culpability in jilting me
as well. Clearly he would not be expected to honor an engagement to a smuggler. He had suspected me all along, for months. All those long seatings in my saloon, when I thought he had come for romance—it was all business. He did not care a straw for me, never had. I believed the matter of pushing forward even to the point of giving me an engagement ring was to repay me for having so often outwitted him in our business dealings. The matter of the reward for Rose Marie, for instance, and having set Crites onto him.

  Yes, he knew that—had taunted me about it. He had the effrontery to sit in my saloon, throwing in my face that he had run Miss Sage to a standstill. We would see about that! For about thirty minutes I was too agitated to do a thing but relive the past months, confirming various details in my mind that supported my hypothesis. I could not fathom how I had become such a fool. While I wrestled with my conscience over letting him love me, he had been snickering up his sleeve. He had managed to follow Jemmie to me, obviously. He knew all my men—why should he not know about me? And as if I needed any further aggravation, my aunt's last playful sentence was that she would tell Wicklow, at the wedding, how often I asked for him!

  It would have been woefully easy to go into a decline after all this lugubrious thinking. I am proud to say I did nothing of the sort. I was so ashamed of my folly, my weakness, I determined I would not give another thought to Sir Stamford, except to outwitting him. How lacking in pride and determination I had been, only because he claimed he would catch Miss Sage. Well, she had outwitted him more than once, and would do it again, with the dragoons thrown into the bargain.

  Instead of sleeping that night, I devised a method of rescuing our dumped cognac before it should be quite worthless. The Seamew would have a little mechanical difficulty that prevented her from going out to fish at sea as she customarily did. She would be tentatively repaired, but spend a day cruising close to shore, to ensure she was sound.

  A leak sounded the likeliest thing. Some caulking must be pulled out, just enough to allow a slow leak, in case Wicklow or the dragoons checked, as I was sure they would do. The day's close cruising would see the grapples pulling the barrels to within wading distance for recovering by my gentlemen. The actual rolling ashore would be done in the dead of night. There weren't that many dragoons to thwart us. The entire regiment had not been sent down, but only one company, under the command of Captain Lawson, who reported directly to Wicklow. Wicklow was being called colonel these days, a habit picked up by the locals from the soldiers.

  I was not the only person in Salford who was minutely aware of the dragoons’ every movement. They were manna from heaven to the Turner twins and the likes of Sally Trebar, who let off rolling her eyes at Andrew altogether. Did I think to mention Miss Simpson came dashing over from Felixstone the morning after their arrival? You may guess what brought her at this time to billet herself on the Trebars. Awake on all suits, that one. The pair of them kept the roads warm, trotting from one end of town to the other, then down the shore road in Sally's brother's gig, to stop and flirt with each pair of red jackets. Shameless hussies. You wonder what Mrs. Simpson was about, letting her daughter make such a cake of herself.

  With Miss Simpson in town, the great secret of my engagement to Sir Stamford was soon public knowledge. He still dropped by to visit me quite frequently, and was greeted with an affability in no way diminished from formerly. I didn't intend to let him know I was on to him. It would be difficult to judge which of us was the better actor.

  The very evening of the day Miss Simpson came to Salford to join the dragoons he dropped by. Edna, the gudgeon, got up and walked out of the saloon the minute he entered, with a coy mention that we would have things to talk about. I had told her all about his duplicity, for I could not keep it to myself. I believe the brain of an unmarried female develops a soft spot where men are concerned, at about age thirty-five or forty. There is no other way to account for her stubborn insistence that it was all some misunderstanding, for Stamford would not be so low as to hurt me.

  "I'm afraid our secret is out, Mab,” he began, with an arch smile, as he threw his greatcoat on a chair. He ran quite tame with us by this time, all formality abandoned. “I have received half a dozen congratulations. It is Miss Simpson's doing, of course. I knew as soon as I saw her it would not be long."

  "Wretched timing on her part, to proclaim me taken, when the town is full of so many handsome men!"

  "Too late for second thoughts, my girl. You're mine now,” he declared in a fine fit of passion, and seized me in his arms for an embrace which only a true engagement could excuse. It left me breathless. I suddenly realized which of us was the better performer. There was no way I could match this sangfroid.

  "It did you no good to make me hide my engagement ring, you see! Truth will out,” I teased, trying to match his skill.

  I was ready to attempt pouts, sulks, coy smiles, the whole role of the coquette. I would lay it on with a trowel.

  "You're right. True love and a cough cannot be hidden. You might as well wear your ring on your finger now. In fact, you must. Captain Lawson was inquiring of me this afternoon who the ravishing lady is who will never smile at him, and took an oath he would bring you round his finger before he left. I had to pull rank on him, and my rank is only borrowed at the moment. He might take into his head to disobey me on non-military matters."

  "Ah, Captain Lawson! Isn't he the terribly handsome one, with the black hair and sultry eyes?"

  "He said you hadn't even looked at him!” Wicklow exclaimed, simulating jealousy.

  "Yes, you see how effective playing hard to get is!” I laughed.

  "Mabel, I want that ring on your finger this instant!” he commanded.

  "Aye aye, Colonel."

  "That's more like it,” he said. He lifted the little gold chain I wore round my neck, pulling it up from my collar to look at the ring. “No one has bothered you about the engagement?” he asked.

  "No, the excitement of the dragoons, you know..."

  He was fumbling with the catch, undoing it, sliding the ring into the palm of his hand. As he put it on my finger, he asked, “How soon can we add a golden band to go with it?"

  Some madness compounded of anger, jealousy and spite goaded me to suggest his own wedding date. “How about two weeks from now?"

  All my fears that did not really need confirming were confirmed by his reaction. First he laughed nervously, then a strange, amused look danced into his eyes. “Let us make it three weeks, darling. I happen to be very busy two weeks from now."

  "Another trip to London to dance attendance on the Hadleys, I suppose?"

  "Just so. An event of great importance is taking place. I cannot miss it, but it will not interfere with our plans. Name any other date you like. Shall I speak to Andrew, by the way? Just for the looks of it. He will not want to hear in the streets his sister is being married, without first hearing it from us."

  "Let us wait a little,” I parried, not wishing to disturb Andrew with this nonsense. Not that he would care much.

  "You do not seriously wish to be married so soon, do you?” was his next telling speech.

  "I see no point in waiting. I don't think you are very eager to be getting on with it,” I pouted, which nudged him into a reassuring peck on the cheek.

  "You know better than that. I was only thinking of your job. I assumed you would carry on till the Easter holiday at least. Truth to tell, I was afraid you'd he wanting to go on till summer. I am happy to see you are not quite so conscientious as that.” Playing the lover to the hilt, he put an arm around my waist and walked me to the settee.

  "Now, let us set a date,” he said in a firm, commanding manner. “How about the week after Easter? If you give Mrs. Aldridge your notice immediately, you can leave then. I don't think you should leave her with less notice. You will not be easy to replace.” He squeezed my fingers, with just a little possessive peep down at the ring.

  I was quite simply staggered to see how far he was willing to go. Did he actually m
ean to have the banns read in church? “You are quite sure you will have caught Miss Sage by then, are you?” I asked in what I hoped was a fairly nonchalant voice.

  "Quite sure,” was his cocky answer.

  "You and the dragoons, that is,” I pointed out.

  "Lawson tells me they are on maneuvers only."

  "Hmm, but when they arrive hard on the heels of your last trip to London, and do their maneuvering on the shore road, one wonders But never mind, they are as welcome as the rain here at Salford. Such a goodly number of eligible men."

  "Out of bounds to you, every one of them,” he said.

  I did not mention his having returned a day early, and he made some remark about having come Saturday morning, so I said nothing to tell him I knew better. He obviously knew there was a load of brandy dumped, and was at no pains to hide his knowledge. He was playing at cat and mouse, to see if I would let fall any additional information.

  To prevent that possibility, I discussed a likely spot for our honeymoon. London, I thought. Then he went on to speak of Oakvale. It was all very tentative, however. Nothing was firmly settled, nor did he mention any communication, even by correspondence, with his aunt who kept house for him, which was a clear corroboration he had no intention of marrying me. He got nothing out of me about my plans, and told me nothing of his schemes for the dragoons.

  The soldiers were a real nuisance to my gentlemen. They got their barrels grappled in close enough to shore to wade for them, but were afraid to bring them in the rest of the way. It could be done under cover of darkness well enough, but the matter of storing them till the tranter could pick them up proved more difficult. Those dragoons were like bees in a flower garden, buzzing here, there, everywhere, looking for the goods. Edna suggested bribing a few of them, but quite apart from disliking to corrupt the King's officers, I did not feel it was at all safe. They would have orders to report any such attempt to Wicklow, perhaps even to be rewarded.