Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02]

by Dangerous Angels

  “I don’t think so, darling. It would be rather late by then to ride back, and taking a carriage means a much longer trip, you know. If I’m not mistaken, Sir Antony will expect us to impose on Alfred’s hospitality until Monday morning, at least.”

  “Jeremiah will get very lonely without me,” Letty said.

  “You must help him become accustomed to being with Aggie. He likes her already, because she frequently gives him treats.”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t like him mucking about in her kitchen,” Letty said, unconsciously echoing what Charley knew must have been Aggie’s own words.

  “Then ask Bess to look after him,” Charley said, her mind already moving to other, more important matters. “She is always happy to oblige.”

  “I like Bess,” Letty said, “but when is Jenifry going to come? If she arrives before we go to Tuscombe, can she go with us? I’d like to have my own companion there. No one pays me any heed unless I go into the nursery, and really, Cousin Charley, Neddy and Jane are entirely too young to be amusing.”

  “We’ll see,” Charley promised. “I expect Jenifry will want to come here as soon as her parents say she is fit to do so.”

  As it happened, Jenifry arrived early Saturday afternoon with her father. Greeting her fondly, Charley sent her upstairs with Aggie to find Letty, who was supervising the packing of what she would require at Tuscombe. Then, drawing Cubert Breton into a small downstairs parlor, Charley said anxiously, “Is she truly fit, Cubert?”

  “Aye, she is, miss, or as near as can be, considering.” The man’s voice was gruff, and he seemed to have a hard time looking at Charley, but at last, he straightened, squared his shoulders, and said bluntly, “We be much beholden to you, Miss Charley, to you and Sir Antony both. You saved our Jen, you did. There be no way to repay the debt, but if ever you’ve a need, I beg you will let me do what I can. My Wenna says the same. She sent this coverlet, made for you with her own two hands.” Tugging his graying forelock, he gave her the brown-paper-wrapped package he carried.

  “Thank you, Cubert. How very kind of Wenna, but I require nothing more than to know Jenifry is safe and well. As it is, now I shall worry about you getting back to the moor safely before the fog catches you. It will be upon us soon, doubtless as thick as yesterday, but as it happens, Lady Letitia and I are riding to Tuscombe Park to spend the night, so you can ride with us. You’d do well to stay at Tuscombe overnight, too.”

  “Thanking you all the same, ma’am, but I’ve work to do come morning.” His eyes shifted again, not meeting hers, but then he looked right at her, and said, “Happen I’d a bit o’ business hereabouts the night, so it were no hardship to be bringing our Jen. She’s been fretting at the house. Does too much thinking, she does, and sees that devil Michael Peryllys behind every sheep and shadow. Happen she’ll feel safer here at Seacourt House, though, to my mind, there be little to choose betwixt ’em.” He hesitated, then said diffidently, “Would Sir Antony be at hand just now, miss?”

  His look was intent, and remembering that, like many others in the area, he frequently lent a hand to smugglers for no more than a barrel of wine, Charley wondered if he knew what the coastal gang planned to do. Knowing she must tread lightly, she shook her head in response to his question and said, “I’m afraid he’s been gone for two days, Cubert. I don’t expect to see him until tomorrow.”

  He nodded, shot her another sharp look from beneath his thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows, shifted his feet, then said as if he were changing the subject, “Saw Sam Corlan toting wood toward the point, Miss Charley. Would you be knowing his purpose, ma’am? I ain’t asking just to be prying like. Give you my word on that.”

  Charley hesitated. She trusted Cubert Breton despite his reputation, and she did not for a moment believe that after what Michael Peryllys had done to Jenifry, Cubert would aid him in any enterprise. She believed that he felt beholden to her, too, and she did not think he would lie to her. She said, “You know that the Duke of Wellington will be in Cornwall tomorrow, that his ship is due to sail into Fowey Harbor tonight.”

  Cubert nodded, his intent gaze never leaving her face.

  “Sir Antony has heard rumors,” Charley said quietly, “that there will be an attempt to capture the Duke and hold him to ransom.”

  Cubert blinked, and a frown creased his brow. He said, “But who would do such a thing to the great man, and him being our own Prime Minister?”

  “They say someone here in Cornwall is in league with French smugglers who have an old quarrel with him. Someone mentioned the name Le Renardeau, but …”

  He shrugged. “I’ve heard the name, but only fantastic things, ma’am, like droll-tellers’ tales. Ain’t no one ever claimed to see this Renardo, neither. I warrant as how they made him up out o’ whole cloth so as to have someone else to blame when—”

  “When what, Cubert? What are they going to do? Sir Antony wants to know.”

  Cubert grimaced, glanced out the window, then back at the half-open door. Stepping to the door, he looked into the hall, then shut it firmly before he turned back and said, “Miss Charley, I always thought you had a good head on your shoulders and was less likely than any female I ever knowed to fly into a fuss without cause.”

  “Cubert, I’m trying very hard to be patient. What do you know?”

  A wry smile twisted his lips, but the wary look that accompanied it told her he had no wish to make her angry. He said, “Happen there be a ship in jeopardy tonight, Miss Charley. B’ain’t the Duke’s ship, howsomever, and if Sir Antony goes blundering about, not knowing what’s o’clock, as you might say, he’s bound to come to grief.”

  “Good mercy, Sir Antony is out there somewhere, very likely risking his life to discover what threat exists against the Duke of Wellington, and here you stand telling me there is no such risk. Who are they after if not Wellington?”

  “Merchantman, miss, from Biscay. Michael Peryllys and his lot mean to wreck her in St. Merryn’s Bay or on Devil’s Sand. But it ain’t just that, Miss Charley. They say Michael set someone to watching of Sir Antony since the business over our Jen—said we never had no trouble till he came into Cornwall—and if Sam Corlan’s a-building up a fire for the night, ’tis my belief he’s in on it with the lot of them.”

  “Sam is following Sir Antony’s orders,” Charley said, hoping that was so, and that she and Antony had not played into Michael’s hands. The thought that he had set a man to watch Antony sent chills up her spine. “How will they do it?” she demanded. “There’s little wind, and if the fog comes in, they’ll be as hampered as anyone else.”

  He shrugged. “Dunno, miss. Happen the Frenchies have got a fellow on board to steer the ship off course or cause some sort of accident that’ll bring them in closer, fog or no fog. Wind may pick up some, too, and I heard talk of a pilot boat out o’ Fowey. One way or another, they mean to have the cargo off that ship.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  He shrugged, but when his gaze slid away from hers, any thought she had had of enlisting his aid disappeared. Cubert was grateful that she had saved Jenifry, but he was not so heedless of his own safety, or that of his family, as to reveal everything the coastal gang had planned, if indeed, he knew everything Most likely, he had heard some of the rumors James Gabriel had heard but, with inside knowledge, had more accurately understood them. Or, perhaps, he was simply unwilling to admit personal knowledge of a plot to capture Wellington and either kill him or hold him to ransom.

  “Cubert,” she said, “I’ve changed my mind. I will send Lady Letitia and Jenifry to Tuscombe Park with armed grooms to ensure their safety. I’d be grateful if you would be so kind as to accompany them …”

  “Aye, Miss Charley, I’ll do that right enough, but what of you?”

  “I have some thinking to do,” Charley said. “Wait here, if you please.”

  Expecting to encounter difficulty persuading Letty to agree to the change in her plan, she hurried to the child’s bedchamber, only to
discover that Letty had little thought beyond her excitement over Jenifry’s arrival.

  “I’m sorry you won’t be there,” Letty said when she had explained, “but since Jenifry can go with me, I won’t even mind when they make me dine alone.”

  “Won’t you, darling? I’m glad, for I cannot imagine Alfred or Edythe taking kindly to a suggestion that you do so when the Duke is there. I’m sending Teddy with you, by the bye, as well as Jeb and Mr. Breton. I want you to feel quite safe.”

  “But won’t you need Teddy?”

  “No,” Charley said. She did not want to have to explain her half-formed intentions to a groom who had known her all her life. The only person to whom she would look for help was one she was certain would not try to hinder her.

  When she had seen the girls off with their escort, she went in search of Hodson, finding him in his master’s dressing room, putting clothing in a portmanteau. He turned politely, giving her his full attention.

  “Hodson, I’ve changed my mind about tomorrow,” she said. “Lady Letitia has gone on to Tuscombe Park, but I mean to join Sir Antony in Fowey in the morning.”

  The man said mildly, “Do you indeed, madam?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “I expect that you are taking those things to him, so that he can change from Jean Matois back to himself for the ceremony.”

  Showing no surprise at her knowledge, he said, “That is correct, madam.”

  “Will you see him tonight?” She could hear the urgency in her tone. So far, she had managed to bury her fears in the need to decide what her actions would be, but her composure was fragile at best.

  “I do not expect to see Sir Antony until morning, madam,” the valet said, “but he did ask that I bespeak a chamber for him to use then. I sent a lad yesterday to attend to that, and I am going myself now to take Sir Antony’s shaving gear and clothing, and to assure myself that all is in readiness for him. Shall I take your things as well? I shall not stay there, because he feared that if I were seen to be in residence overnight at the inn, someone might question his absence. I will gladly escort you tomorrow if you like.”

  Nodding, she said, “If you should chance to see him, Hodson, tell him I’ve heard that the coastal gang is after a merchantman, and that a pilot boat might somehow be involved. But don’t look for him, lest you put him in danger by doing so. You must come back here if this is where he will expect to find you if he needs you.”

  “And you, madam, if I might be so bold? May I tell him what you plan to do?”

  “I don’t know what that is yet. I wish I did. My first impulse was to ride for help, but in truth, I know not whom to trust. I can just imagine trying to convince the constable at Fowey that he must raise a hue and cry over a possible attempt to capture Wellington, or the possible wrecking of a merchantman in St. Merryn’s Bay or on the Devil’s Sand. He would think me mad.”

  Tactfully, Hodson said, “I do not believe the master would appreciate a hue and cry over anything just now, madam.”

  “Very likely not,” she agreed, “but I am also afraid that the villains might have realized that Jean Matois and Sir Antony are one and the same, Hodson. What if they have found him out and taken him prisoner, or worse?”

  “That, if I might take leave to say, madam, is a frequent worry where the master is concerned. I myself have felt it often over the years. However, I have learned that he nearly always lands on his feet. You will say that, as his valet, I cannot suffer the same level of anxiety as one who harbors more tender feelings toward him, but I assure you that until you hear he has been put six feet under, there is no cause for alarm.”

  Remembering that Antony had said Hodson knew the facts of their marriage, Charley nearly reminded him that she was not-in love with her husband. She held her tongue, however, because whether she was in love with Antony or not—a phrase that sounded much more like a partnership now—she knew that she cared more about him than she had ever cared about anyone before in her life. If that was love, so be it. In any case, she did not contradict Hodson.

  By the time Hodson returned it was dark, and she saw at once that he had not met with Antony. When she asked if he had spoken to the constable, he said, “No, madam. As I mentioned before, it is best to rest one’s faith in the master. I have found that when I did not do so, I took a grave chance of upsetting his carefully laid plans.”

  He said no more, but Charley did not miss the warning. She tried to contain her soul in patience, but not being a patient person by nature, she soon found her fears increasing to a point where she could no longer sit still. The more she thought about Michael setting a man to watch Antony, the more frightened she became. She had to know. Only then did it occur to her that Michael Peryllys was a wanted man, that if she could tell the constable where he might be found, the constable would have to act.

  Upstairs, as she changed to her riding habit without Kerra’s help, her mind raced from one thought to the next. Deciding she could do nothing else until she had learned whether Michael would be at St. Merryn’s Bay or on the Devil’s Sand, she found her gloves, pistol, and riding whip, then put out the lights and opened her curtains. The sky was cloudy, and she had to wait for the slender moon to peep out before she could see the sweeping beach of St. Merryn’s Bay. She saw no activity, but it was early yet, not more than half past nine. She needed to know more before she rode for help.

  Hurrying to the stable, she met no one, and no one disturbed her as she bridled Dancer, flung her saddle onto the gelding’s back, and drew the cinch tight. Grateful that she was not a female who needed others to perform such tasks for her, she holstered her pistol, mounted quickly, and guided the horse out of the stable. Minutes later, she was cantering along the dark track toward the cliff road high above the Devil’s Sand.

  On the road, she slowed Dancer to a walk until they were past the headland, then dismounted to walk near the edge, looking down. Her eyes had adjusted fully to the darkness, and although the sliver of moon gave her little light as it played hide and seek with the clouds, she was able to see enough of the silvery sand below to know that the tide was starting to turn. She saw no sign of human movement on the beach.

  Commanding Dancer to kneel so that she could mount again, and stilling a sudden fear at being so near the edge, she rode back the way she had come, going past the turning to Seacourt House, and along the path above St. Merryn’s Bay. She had not ridden far when she saw a single flicker of light on the shingle below. It was gone in an instant, but it had been enough. Someone was there.

  Curiosity stirred, and she told herself that Fowey’s constable might not believe her solely on the basis of rumor and one flickering light. Thus it was that although she passed the first and second of several precipitous trails leading down to the beach, when she came to the third, she rode away from it, off the main path, and into a protected hollow. Tying her reins to some scrub shrubbery, she hoped Dancer would remain there undisturbed until she returned, and that any sound the gelding made would be attributed to the gang’s own ponies, which must, she knew, be somewhere nearby.

  Taking her pistol from the holster on her saddle, she picked up her skirt and hurried back along the main path to the narrow, twisting trail that led down to the beach. She did not mean to go all the way, just far enough so that she could find a spot that would give her a good view of what was happening below. She had taken no more than ten careful steps down the steep path, however, before a dark figure loomed up and grabbed her, and a heavy hand clapped over her mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ANTONY CROUCHED SOME DISTANCE from the opening of the largest of several caves that the sea had carved into the chalk cliff. He knew that Michael’s men stood in the entrance, and he did not want to draw attention to himself. Though it had taken time to learn where they would be, he had found them easily enough, but although he had watched most of them enter the cave, he had not seen Michael.

  Gabriel had got his signals crossed, he thought, for if these men were after
the Duke, they did not know it. They had spoken of him, and a few had done so with some chagrin, but he suspected those simply feared they might miss seeing him. All their attention now was focused on the sea, but in the direction of the Bay of Biscay, and they murmured of a merchantman and riches to be had before the night was over.

  He had feared at first that someone might recognize Jean Matois and Sir Anthony Foxearth as one and the same. Earlier, when he had eased his way into their midst, more than one had given him a sharp look, especially when he asked about Michael, but each man with whom he had spoken expected to see Michael on the beach tonight.

  Antony soon decided he had not been wrong in thinking the men had grown more reticent, and he soon understood the reason. For some time he had known that they both liked and mistrusted the fact that he spoke French. It meant they were no longer wholly dependent upon Michael to tell them what the Frenchmen said; however, they did not trust Frenchmen. Now, unless he was much mistaken, they had also heard the rumors of Le Renardeau’s presence in Cornwall.

  At another time, in another circumstance, he might have found humor in being outmaneuvered by his alter ego. Tonight it was not funny. He could only be thankful that no one had accused him outright of being the elusive Frenchman. He hoped they would continue to assume that someone with such a vast reputation for cunning as the Fox Cub enjoyed would have a more imposing personality than the simple Jean Matois.

  Men moved on the beach now, quietly and without lights, except for one idiot who had lighted his spout lantern moments before, only to have another man douse it with a muttered curse. The moon disappeared behind a solid bank of clouds, and the chilly mist made itself felt. As darkness and damp closed around him, Antony wished he had thought to provide himself with oilskins.

  The brief glow of lantern light had ruined his night vision, but it was returning. He could see the lacy crests of waves breaking against the shingle now. The tide was rising. He didn’t suppose it would make much difference to the wreckers’ plan if it began to ebb before the merchantman arrived—if it did arrive. He was still skeptical. That they had set their trap in St. Merryn’s Bay instead of further to the east argued that they expected their prey to approach from the west, but without yet knowing exactly what they intended, he did not dare assume that Wellington was safe.