Summers, True

by Poppy

  She crept through the house like a shadow, but once outside, she almost panicked as she groped and stumbled her way blindly through the garden. She had barely been able to find her way home this morning. Now the black fog darkened the night. She could see nothing. But the salt-tasting wind, icy cold on her face, was blowing from the sea. If she walked straight into that, she was going toward the cliffs. Beyond the gar-dens, the coarse, slippery moor grasses caused her to slip and slide. Twice she tripped over rocks and fell to her knees. The second time she stayed down, the wind swirling all around her until she had no more sense of direction.

  Then she heard the distant pounding of the sea to her left. As she got up, fighting to hold down her full skirts, she realized the wind had changed and was clearing the fog away. It still hung in patches, but between them she could see dimly as she went forward, gasping for breath, listening for every beat of the surf, terrified she might stumble over the cliff in a black patch of the fog.

  Suddenly, she heard sounds that were muffled but still clear enough to recognize men's voices, metal jingling, and dull thuds that were not surf. The sounds were straight ahead and, by some freak of the wind, all in one instant, they came up,clearly from directly below her. She fell to her knees and screamed as one hand groped forward into nothingness. Below, a man's cursing came back clearly.

  "Who's up there? Identify yourself or we'll shoot."

  "Poppy. It's Poppy. The excisemen are coming."

  Shouting voices answered, and again she heard the hurried clink of harness metal and the slap of hands on animal hides. The wind shifted once more, and for a full minute, she could see the white sand beach below. Four small fishing boats were pulled up on the shore, and a string of pack animals were coming and going along the steep path up to the moor. Men were working frantically, wading ashore with packs and casks on their backs and loading the animals that stood waiting.

  One of the men dropped his pack behind a rock and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Where? Land or sea? Boat or horseback?"

  Poppy knew that voice so unlike the rough Cornish speech. "I don't know. Mrs. Wilkins warned them last night."

  "Then they've had time for anything. Take what you can and run for it, men."

  The men ran but only back and forth, carrying the cargo on their backs onto the shore, and to rough hiding places in the rocks. Then from the blackness of the sea, other voices yelled, and the sharp high crackle of gun-fire cut across the other muffled sounds. Poppy saw brief yellow flickers in the fog as the guns fired. She gasped as something cracked past her ear and thudded into the ground behind her. From below, men's voices shouted defiance and yelled at the pack animals scrambling up the path.

  "Don't fire back," the leader shouted. "Let the cargo go. Get your boats away."

  "They'm be too close in," a Cornish voice howled. "We're four and more than they. They's one boat. Stick with it."

  "No. Get your boats away. Away, men, away."

  Some men were still unloading. Others ran for the boats, and more yellow flashes lit the night as the fishermen fired back. On one boat a sail creaked up, and on another oars pushed strongly, heaving it out into the deeper water. A heavy ball whipped over Poppy's head and smashed into the ground behind her. Somebody had seen her and was shooting at her. She flattened herself and trembled. She should run for it, but she was frozen with fear. Then a scrambling sound directly below her made her roll away. With a jump, a man pulled himself over the edge and dropped beside her.

  "Poppy?" It was the young man. "Poppy?"

  ''They're shooting at me."

  ''They think you're our lookout man. You fool. They were close enough to hear you call your name. They'll remember it when they take a minute to think. We'll run for it. Come on."

  Poppy started up and then froze again as she heard behind them the pounding of galloping horses. He cursed, jerked her to her feet, and dragged her to the left into a patch of darker fog. Four horses burst out of the night and reined so abruptly on the edge of the cliff that they were thrown back on their haunches. The excisemen jumped down, holding their guns, and began shooting at the rigging of the two fishing boats that had got out into the water.

  "Now," he breathed just as the wind shifted again ,and left them standing in full view, only feet away from the four men and their sweating, heaving horses. "Now. Come."

  "There! Two of them. On your horses and after them!"

  The young man started off at a run as if he could see in the dark. Behind them, yells, thuds, shouts, and the sharp crack of shots went on, but Poppy was only aware of horses' hoofs thudding close behind them. He pulled her along and suddenly jerked her to the right and threw her down. She hit the ground so heavily the breath was knocked out of her. Dimly she realized they were hidden behind a protruding rock as the horse and rider thudded past.

  "Now. Before he knows he's missed us."

  He had her up again and running headlong through the thick gorse. It tore at her skirts, and she tripped on sharp rocks, but he never slackened his pace. She gasped, her lungs aching to bursting, her legs shaking, but she dared not fall. She had a feeling he would simply drag her along behind him, relentlessly. He was running for his life and would stop for nothing.

  The sounds behind them slackened and faded, but he did not slow his pace. She was staggering from side to side, gasping loudly, whimpering for breath, but still running, dragged by that iron clasp on her wrist. Then he stopped so abruptly she stumbled forward and fell weakly against his shoulder, too exhausted to move, even to sink to her knees.

  Incredibly the soft nicker of a horse came through the fog. She looked ahead and saw bands of yellow lights that could only be windows. They were beyond the manor stables, and those lights were shining out through the library windows. How had he brought her straight here?

  "Where did you get out?"

  ''That near window. I left it unlatched."

  "We'll look."

  He took her hand again, but gently, as he crept up on the terrace. Flattening himself against the wall by the window, he looked inside.

  "All safe. She's expecting company, but they're not here yet."

  He opened the window and deftly latched it behind him. The tray, silver goblets, and decanters were set out in front of the fire, but the room was empty. He led the way across to the dark fireplace and pressed a panel above the mantel. With a creak, half a tier of bookcases cracked open beside the fireplace. Pulling impatiently, he wrenched the door wide and thrust her inside the low, dark opening. She stumbled against a set of narrow stairs.

  "Up. Up. Quickly. Quietly."

  She fumbled her way blindly until she felt empty, fiat space around her. The dim light below disappeared as he closed the bookcase and climbed up to join her.

  "Sutcliffe Manor's priest's hole," he said easily.. "This was Catholic country once, you know."

  "So that is why this fire is never lit."

  ''We couldn't have a roasted priest."

  "You are the heir!" Poppy cried.

  "Of course. I'm Jack Mowbry. Hush. Somebody's coming."

  He showed her a long, narrow slit cut into the design of the fireplace overmantel, which gave them a full view of the library.

  Chapter Nine

  MRS. Wilkins bustled in, inspected the tray, and went to the center French window. She turned the handle to make sure it opened easily. Poppy swallowed hard. Only luck had kept Mrs. Wilkins from discovering earlier that another window also had been left unlocked.

  The housekeeper put another log on the fire and filled all four goblets before she settled down in a chair with one of them, smiling, prepared to wait. She had hardly put her feet on a small stool before the window burst open and a heavily built man in an exciseman's uniform came through it and walked to the fire. He stood over it, shivering.

  Mrs. Wilkins held out a goblet to him. "I didn't expect you for an hour or more."

  "It went wrong," the man said and drained the goblet. "A woman warned them. One of the fishe
rmen's wives, maybe. Is that girl who's staying here in her bed?"

  "Of course."

  "Find out. Miles thought he heard her call out a name like Poppy."

  "Impossible. What happened?"

  "We had them surrounded. Another five minutes and we'd have taken the lot. But a woman on the cliff saw or heard something. She warned them."

  "A fisherman's wife stationed as a lookout."

  "They don't take their women on that kind of jaunt."

  "You got nothing?"

  "Three boats got away, and the fourth Staved in and sunk among the rocks. They'll have it up and away, with no identifying it, before we can return in the morning. Our lugger had to return to base. Two men wounded and needing a doctor."

  "They must have landed some cargo," Mrs. Wilkins said sharply.

  "Most of it, ma'am," he said with a heavy courtesy that held no liking. "Unfortunately the four of us on horseback made the mistake of going after the woman. And missed her, too. So most of the pack animals got clear, and what kegs and bales were left dumped on the beach won't stay there long. I left two men to guard, but our smugglers are old hands at inching a parcel away under our noses. Especially on a night as dark as this."

  "Where's your other man?"

  "Miles is guarding your stables, for what that's worth. Those and the old mine workings are the nearest hiding spots. I fear, ma'am, you and the smith will get nothing out of this night's work."

  Poppy covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a gasp. So the smith Andy thought was so wonderful was also an informer. No wonder he was leaving for California.

  "He will be disappointed," Mrs. Wilkins said smoothly. "He was counting on the funds to help him settle in his new country."

  "I won't enjoy reporting this at the customhouse myself," the exciseman said bitterly. "I'll check the stables now and let Miles come into the warm here. Would you be kind enough to let me know about your guest when I return?"

  "I'll look to it myself."

  The room was barely empty before Poppy exploded in an accumulation of sneezes. "I was afraid of that," Jack said. He ripped the dripping shawl from her shoulders and tossed it down the stairs. He felt her soaked hair and ran his hands down the wet bodice to the hem of her skirt dripping on the floor. Then he tore his own soaked jersey off and said, "Is one of your petticoats dry enough to use as a towel? If we stay here soaked and dripping, we'll both sneeze ourselves into the excisemen's arms." Poppy edged into a comer, loosened her skirt belt, and reached inside and let her topmost petticoat drop. She stepped out of it and handed it to him.

  He tore the soaking wet ruffle off before she could protest the loss of her best lace, then ripped the rest into two parts and handed her one. She dried her hair as best she could and squeezed water from the hem of her skirt. Beside her, she could feel his vigorous movements as he rubbed his head, chest, and arms.

  They both went deadly still as the French window opened and a younger exciseman stumbled in and went to the fire, snatching up a goblet and draining it in almost one movement. As he stood rubbing his hands in the warmth, Poppy realized how chilled through she was. She began to shiver uncontrollably and her jaw quivered as she bit down to keep her teeth from chattering.

  Jack felt her shivering. Reaching out, he put both his arms around her and pulled her against his warm, bare chest, pressing her head against his shoulder. Though she felt the icy chill biting to the bone, the animal warmth helped. She pressed close against him, and the long quivering shudders of cold gradually subsided..

  Mrs. Wilkins came into the room so rapidly her silk skirts rustled with a hissing like a snake. "The red-headed bit of street sweepings is nowhere to be found."

  The exciseman stared at her. "You are speaking of His Lordship's guest?"

  "The flaunting daughter of a notorious whore."

  "I heard she was a pretty young girl and rode very well," the exciseman said slowly.

  "She's cost us all a few hundred pounds tonight," Mrs. Wilkins said viciously. "If that's pretty to you. And that scum out of the gutter, her brother, is in it, too. He swears she was with him until just a minute ago. But Dorcas tells me she wasn't to be seen when she went up to turn the beds down, and her room's not been touched since."

  The exciseman said with stiff distaste, ''What's done is done, and I must be getting back, ma'am," and put down the goblet.

  Mrs. Wilkins latched the window behind him with a snap and returned to the tray and refilled her glass and drained it. As she hesitated, eyeing the decanter and plainly debating the wisdom of another drink, Andy burst into the room.

  "What have you done with her?" he shouted.

  ''Done with her? What are you doing up and dressed at this hour?"

  "Looking for my sister," Andy said belligerently. "I looked all over, and I can't find her, either. What have you done with her?"

  "I wouldn't touch her with my little finger any more'n I'd take poison," Mrs. Wilkins sneered. "Look for her in the bed of one of her smuggler friends."

  "I'm staying right here until I see her," Andy said. "I don't trust you or what you'd do. I'll stay here all night if I have to." He went over to the fire, picking up the brass shovel and filling it with coals. Balancing it carefully, he started across the room.

  ''What are you doing?"

  "It's a cold night. I'm lighting the other fireplace."

  "Oh, no, you're not," Mrs. Wilkins said. She snatched the shovel and tossed the coals back in the fire.

  "You're hiding something, I know it. Something bad," Andy said. "What's happened to my sister?"

  "I don't know, but I hope it's as bad as can be," Mrs. Wilkins snapped. "It's none of my doing, and I'm going to bed. You can stay here all night if you like, but you're not burning the place down around us." With malicious satisfaction, she raked the ashes from under the grate until every spark of fire was smothered beyond rekindling. "Now will you go to bed?"

  ''No. Because you want me out of this room."

  "You can freeze in any room in the house for the rest of the night for all of me," Mrs. Wilkins said. "And believe me, His Lordship is going to hear about this."

  Andy waited until the door closed behind her, then ran to the window and tried the latch. His face contorted with fear as he found it locked and struggled to open it.

  Jack put Poppy from him and went down the stairs and pressed the bookshelf open. "It's all right. We're here."

  Andy turned with a gasp of relief. He ran and hurled himself into Poppy's arms as she stepped into the room. "Oh, Poppy, Poppy, I was so scared for you. All I could think of was to get her out of here so you could get back in. And the only way I could think to do it was to make old Wilkins go looking for you while I waited here. Only she wouldn't."

  "But she did leave," Poppy soothed. "And we're all right."

  Jack, his bare, strongly muscled torso gleaming bronze in the candlelight, gulped down the brandy in the unused goblet before he went back into the priest's hole and returned with his jersey and Poppy's shawl. "I've got to go."

  "Go?"

  "I've got to get my boat out of that cove before somebody recognizes her. The excisemen know her. I've sailed the Corn Dolly up and down this coast since I was a boy."

  "She's on your own land. What's the harm?"

  "She's back here for the first time in years. Hidden in that cove. After last night, do you think nobody will make the connection?"

  "They can't prove anything."

  "True. But they'll suspect. And talk." He grinned wryly. "I can't do that to the Pater and the family name."

  "You're the missing heir," Andy cried, delighted.

  "Yes. And I'm going to be missing again in about two minutes."

  "The missing heir, and a smuggler, too." Andy beamed. ''Do you like being a smuggler better than an heir?"

  "Right now I'll trade you both of them for a ha'-penny," Jack said. "I couldn't ship out, and I couldn't live on half pay. So I sailed the Corn Dolly to France, invested my little savings in
a cargo, and arranged to have a French friend bring it over to meet my Cornish sailors. With the result you saw." He pulled his empty trouser pockets out with an expressive gesture and shrugged. He stuffed them back. "See? So it's back to France again and lie low for a while. You're sure you want to stay here?"