Endure My Heart

by Joan Smith

  "No, but we could very well transplant Lady to a coffin and invent someone else to be Miss Sage."

  "Yes. That is exactly what I was thinking, but who? At the very least, it means hustling one of the fellows out of town, never to be seen again. Jemmie, that go-getter, is the natural choice, but unfortunately he is out peddling his fish and glass beads this very minute, seen by everyone. These provincial people are so closely tied to their little town, I expect they'd as soon be hanged as have to leave."

  "There is one person who has already left—Rose Marie,” I mentioned, glancing at her letter, which sat on the sofa table before us.

  He looked up, his eyes alight with interest. “By God, you're right!” he said, quick to leap to my meaning. “But where is she gone? It wouldn't do for her to come prancing back in six months’ time."

  "I have had a letter from her this morning,” I answered, handing it to him. He looked it over quickly.

  "She was an actress, was she? That's one more point for you. I didn't tumble to that, though I should have realized when she made her entrance so soon after your trip to London there was some connection. And Miss Simon was her sister, eh? I presume you trust them implicitly, as they were used at the Eyrie. So, we can write to her at Wantage warning her away from Salford. There is no danger she will ever be picked up, living like a gypsy with a wandering troupe of actors, and it seems utterly unlikely the sister will ever return here. Both used phony names too, to further confuse the matter. Yes, Rose Marie will make a marvelous Miss Sage. The only hitch in it is that we shall have to produce a body—a human body—for purposes of identification. I expect it is that bleater of a Ganner who gives one the certificate."

  "Ganner won't give us any trouble. With yourself and him to swear it is her in the coffin, no one will question it."

  "We'll need a death certificate—some doctor must be in your hire, I expect."

  "No, but we can get a certificate from the doctor without showing him the body. When it is learned she has been dead for over twelve hours, Dr. Shebley will not insist on an examination."

  "I rather dislike revealing to Miss Thyme what I am about, but then he is hardly in a position to tell anyone."

  "We'll leave you out of it. I'll arrange the death certificate and identification from him myself, and he will never be sure whether you..."

  "Whether I am a fool or a scoundrel,” he finished for me, not very well pleased with this aspect of the matter. “You can't have everything, I suppose. And as I am getting you, I shan't stick at giving Ganner a poor opinion of me."

  "Your help in the matter will not lower you in his esteem."

  "Who else in this town have you led astray?” he asked.

  "Everyone but the Reverend Anderson and Squire Porson. The former is incorruptible, and the latter was already gone astray long before I met him."

  "I still wish Porson had been Miss Sage."

  "He hasn't time. His evenings are all taken up chasing the village wenches, and catching them too."

  "I've noticed a lot of redheads in town. Rose Marie and Lady will do well enough. She is an excellent choice—having lived at the Eyrie as she did, and its being so closely associated with the smuggling. It will be assumed she moved there for the purpose, as she did, of course. Before many hours are out it will be reported she was seen within a mile of town long after she was supposed to have left. Hiding out in the hills, directing operations from afar. People are always helpful in such evidence. Yes, and it will be sworn she was seen around town long before she came and took over the Eyrie too. I wonder whether folks make those things up, or imagine them, and talk themselves into belief."

  "Legends take on a life of their own after a bit, based on a bit of fact, and embroidered with a lot of fancy."

  "Or twisted fact. Miss Sage will be head and shoulders above Marjoram and Thyme, what with having claimed the thousand pounds reward for that load she turned in herself, then turning around and stealing it again. Quite a neat caper. Congratulations, Miss Sage.” I dropped a curtsy to acknowledge the compliment. “Her cleverest trick will never be known, I sincerely hope! That she had the chief revenue inspector covering for her, I mean, and breaking every law in the book to save her skin."

  "Ah no! Her cleverest trick is that she caught him for a husband!"

  "A joint victory, that. The revenue officer simultaneously rid the coast of her presence, and rescued her from a life of crime. The coast of Salford is now free of smuggling."

  Then he looked at me, while a slow smile spread across his face. “At least until I have my report handed in. You must really twist Jem's arm on that point, my dear. I will look the greatest fool in the kingdom if Miss Tarragon, or whatever he means to call himself, brings in a load while I present my brief to the president of the Board of Trade."

  "Miss Parsley would not dream of behaving so ungentlemanly. I'll make him promise a three months’ moratorium at least."

  "Good. By then some other poor devil will have the chore of seeing to it. I don't envy him. Oh, but I envy me!” he said, laughing boyishly, while he examined his reward.

  Under his close scrutiny, I became aware that I was utterly disheveled, with my hair falling down and my gown rumpled from sleeping on the sofa. I began tucking up loose ends and straightening my skirt. He sat patiently till I was done, then immediately took me in his arms to undo all my work with an embrace that rocked me to my core. That old electric charge seared through me. I trembled to think how close I had come to missing out on this.

  When he was done, he sat back, smiling with satisfaction, but I had still a few details to speak of. “You mentioned a new revenue officer, Stamford. What will become of Crites? Will he be replaced? He was afraid you had given him a bad report."

  "I wrote out a report but have not sent it in. I was feeling some sympathy with the smugglers already, that long ago. It is not only saving your pretty neck that leads me from the path of duty. I begin to think Crites an excellent fellow for the post, and shall say so in London. There is no need to expand on my reasons for wanting him to remain here. Jemmie will have easy pickings, won't he?"

  "It will be the first easy money he ever made. Before we abandon the subject of Crites, why did you tell him Porson was Miss Sage?"

  "I didn't intend to do so. I set him to guard the crypt to keep him out of our hair once I had determined the brandy was in my warehouse. He really is the devil of a nuisance, you know. Knocking me out at the Eyrie! And always nagging about a stupid telescope that is of no use whatsoever at night in any case. I guess Mark didn't realize there is an underground passage from the store to the warehouse. Makes you wonder whether Miss Marjoram hadn't a hand in the shop at one time, doesn't it? Mark is not so bright as Jem. Jem would have spied on me without being seen. It was Mark's tenacious presence that told me where to look for your last load. I could hardly believe the gall!"

  "I did give you a hint once, long ago."

  "So you did, but love is blind, you know, and that was the night I fell irrevocably in love with you. You practically accepted my offer before I was in a position to give it. I hotfooted it to London to wiggle out of my attachment with Lucy. Do you realize, Mab, that if anyone had happened to overhear this conversation we have been having, you and I would be hanging side by side at the crossroads, with our feet swaying in the wind?"

  "Mmm,” I answered dreamily. “Do you realize that if we had not had it I would be hanging alone? I would much rather hang with you, Stamford."

  "Touching thought. I love you too. I wouldn't dream of going to the scaffold without you. Bear it in mind, if you have any other tricks up your sleeve,” he cautioned. Then he arose and left.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  There was a great clamor in the London papers, making much of the capture (and death) of Miss Sage. Her history and background being so vague, the reporters were free to write as much melodramatic fiction as they wished to entertain their readers. One enterprising fellow made her an illegitimate offspring of Miss M
arjoram, another had her a French woman. The word “actress” did not arise. Sir Stamford was puffed up as a St. George and Duke of Wellington rolled into one, as a combined slayer of dragons and commander of outstanding ability. His whole war record was dredged up, telling me several items I did not know about his heroism, all of which he assured me were quite as inaccurate and exaggerated as the capture of Miss Sage. He had to go up to London to present his report, and stayed to perform as best man at the wedding of Lady Lucy. He wound my Aunt Harvey round his finger. She can hardly wait to have us to visit her in Devonshire. All this left me free to arrange matters with Ganner. He looked very sly and knowing when I assured him Wicklow would sign the papers for Miss Sage's internment, corpse unseen.

  "Does he know the truth?” he asked point-blank.

  Miss Sage's loyalties rapidly shifted sides. “What be doesn't know won't hurt him,” I parried.

  "He didn't strike me as a lad that would take anything for granted. Are you sure he won't be ordering another exhumation order when he gets back?"

  "I shall take care he is too busy to be thinking of that, Sir Elwood."

  "It's true you are to marry him then?"

  "Certainly it is."

  "Might be a good idea to bury the coffin next to old Mrs. Lynley that was buried in the parish field last week all the same, and have a little mix-up in the parish records."

  "You'll see to it?"

  He nodded, the sun glinting off his shiny pate. I was eager to get out into the street, where that same sun was turning the air warm with the first taste of spring. The streets were less full than formerly, when we had the dragoons for company. The Owenses were back in their shop, trying to retain the goodwill of all the smuggling families with a big spring sale. There was a sign in the window as well offering lottery tickets, a highly salable commodity since Miss Anderson's win.

  I met Sally Trebar and Miss Simpson, the former flashing a little sliver of a diamond she had got from one of the officers before he left. Whether she ever gets the man to go with it is a moot point, but I'm sure I wish her well, as it will prevent her from marrying Andrew, who was certainly ripe for plucking. Miss Simpson was so sweet to me I could not make head or tails of it, till I caught on she was angling for an invitation for tea, to throw her cap at Andrew.

  In a benevolent mood, I asked her along, and was amazed to see her having better luck than I would have expected. Once Sally had awakened Andrew to the fact that there were young ladies in the world, whose duty it was to marry young gentlemen, he seemed much of a mind to oblige her. Andrew is the sort who has to he hit over the head with a notion before he catches on, and she was hitting him pretty hard. I won't be surprised to see him measuring up her waist one of these days, as she has extended her visit with the Trebars for another fortnight. They must be wishing the girl at Jericho. Edna suggests we have her to stop at the rectory, and if Andrew agrees to such an imposition, I shall assume him caught, and do it.

  Miss Parsley is busy forming plans for the reinstitution of the enterprise at a future date. I have his word it won't be for three months. As summer and spring are not the preferred season for the trade, and he will have to renegotiate a deal in London, I expect it will be late autumn before he recommences operations. The first dark of October, I fancy, will be the time. In return for his cooperation in the matter, he has a key to the school and another to the crypt.

  Stamford did not return in time for Miss Sage's funeral. Everyone in town who is not lame, halt or blind was there. Sir Elwood took the opportunity to give a little speech, as there were some reporters present, and he always likes to see his name in the paper. It was Andrew, all unknowing, who blessed the coffin, which really did seem terribly profane, considering its contents. I assuaged my conscience and Edna's complaints that I was a heretic by explaining that in a way it was Miss Sage who was being buried. She would roam no more over the coast. I felt saddened as a handful of dirt was sprinkled on the box by Andrew.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Miss Sage had come from nowhere, and was now being interred, in spirit. Still, like a phoenix, she would rise up again in legend and live for aeons. I shall miss my coast. Stamford and my aunt assure me Devonshire is lovely, but some corner of my heart will always be here, and occasionally my body will come to visit Andrew and Miss Simpson (who will by then be Mrs. Anderson if I can read the signs). Edna, I think, wishes to remain here with Andrew, though I invited her to come with me. She was born and bred here, and says she is too old to begin a new life. I think all the same she does not consider herself too old to be casting sheep's eyes at Mr. Owens’ brother, who came back from Bath with them for a visit.

  The Salford Sun brought out a special edition, a copy of which I kept to show Stamford when he returned. “You will be surprised to learn how you tumbled to it Rose Marie was Miss Sage.” I informed him, pointing out the pertinent paragraph. “Your suspicions were alerted by Miss Andersons relating to you the old legend that the Eyrie was used in the days of Miss Marjoram. They wished to introduce my name so they could go on and bring up my little victory regarding the reward money. You may be a hero in London, but you will always be half a scoundrel here, and we take this opportunity to remind ourselves you lost that round."

  "You can't win ‘em all, and I won a round in London."

  "You are to be the assistant to the president of the Board of Trade?"

  "No, I wouldn't touch the job with a pair of tongs. I want to get out of that policing type of work and join the common herd. Wellington was at Lucy's wedding. He is as sly as they come about a fellow advancing his career, you know, and he takes a little interest in me from having been with him in the Peninsula, and at Waterloo. What I really want is to be a Member of Parliament, as a start at least. I didn't see how I could afford it, for the job does not pay, of course. He arranged a few sinecures for me. Booty, if you like, delayed booty from my war career."

  "You don't mean bribery, do you?"

  "Lord no! I'll be working like a slave, and deserve some remuneration for all my toil. I am not Miss Sage, after all, to work for nothing. Wellington calls any bloody thing you can lay your hands on and keep hold of booty. That is his formal definition, mind. Hadley put in a good word for me too. He was happy enough to see me refuse the Board of Trade offer, as he has it in his eye for Lucy's husband. I'll stand at the next election—a formality only, as the seats are definitely Hadley's to give. A deplorable way of running the country, isn't it? But we must take things as they are, and I do mean to be a good M.P., and work for the betterment of the poor. It will give us some time at Oakvale before we must go to London, and my little bonus for the job at Salford will help fill up our house. We have a tea set to start with in any case."

  "If I weren't such a philanthropist, we would have a thousand pounds besides."

  "I have no regrets. Don't you have any either. It was a good job, well done. And thank God it is done."

  My story is done too. I hope I accomplished what I set out to—to encourage you to take the reins of your life into your own hands, to take a chance. I wish to each of you good fortune, strong hearts and a marvelous husband. So does Stamford.

  * * *

  Visit www.BelgraveHouse.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.