by Claudy Conn
The Mermaid Inn was home to both smugglers and ghosts, but it looked warm and inviting as he turned into its courtyard and handed the reins of his cob to a livery boy.
He dismounted as the lad held his horse and found the cobbled stones beneath his feet lumpy and annoying as he flipped a coin to the lad and headed for the inn’s large red door.
Tudor in style, with lead paned windows, he admitted to himself that it appeared most charming. Ghosts or no, he stepped through to the open galley.
That first galley was overflowing with men full of salt and vigor. They had come to lay their blunt on the table and enjoy their evening. He meant to do the same.
He saw a group of seamen at a large round table and knew at once that they were smugglers by trade. This inn was their sanctuary, where they were safe from the dragoons and the exciseman. None would accost them here and live.
The Innkeeper stepped forward and was pleased to serve as he wearily requested a room, a bottle and his dinner in a quiet corner.
He found himself readily obliged and within moments poured himself a glass of brandy and thought, indeed, it certainly was some of France’s finest!
With a tired sigh he sat back against his wooden chair and contemplated the ribald inhabitants with a sad smirk. In a few hours, the brandy would do its job and he would think of the Lady Babs no more.
* * *
Berkley Grange was situated some four miles west of Rye and it didn’t take Star long to put the distance behind her.
As she approached the town, she reined in her horse and gulped down a swallow. Faith! How could she do this?
Her heartbeat began to increase rapidly. Her brain became frazzled with conflicting thoughts and she had to ask herself, was she mad to believe she could actually get away with it?
Everything she had done since she decided to don her brother’s clothing—clothing he had worn many years ago while he was still growing, was absurd.
No one would take her for a lad—would they?
Of course, she had created the image of one. Her hair was short and she had put a smidgeon of dirt across both cheeks. She had stuffed wadding into the shoulders of the buckskin riding coat. She hoped both the hat and the riding cloak she now wore would do the rest to disguise her gender.
What she was doing was of course wrong—wrong in so many ways.
The entire escapade she was planning was laced with a behavior that the ladies’ circle would consider wicked beyond consideration.
If that wasn’t bad enough, she was also quite sure the entire undertaking was more than a bit touched with mortal danger.
That her brother could have asked her to do this for him, only displayed his unclear focus and desperation.
She had always thought herself a bright and modern woman, ready to do her part to promote change—political change. This undertaking was quite beneath those ideals.
If all that wasn’t enough, she admitted that she was scared out of her mind about what she was going to do.
Earlier, when she had completed her disguise, she had taken a quick look in the long mirror. She thought that she very well could pass for a lad of fourteen or so. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
She had, however, quite made up her mind that no one would believe she was Vern, as he had told her to pretend she was him. Thus, she created a fictional male relative and meant to play the part. She would say her cousin Vern had sent her with a message and that was all she knew, nothing more and she would escape as fast as she could.
That, she had decided, might work.
Star pulled the wool cap low over her eyes and adjusted the hood of her cloak like a shroud over her head, cap and all, before she had taken to horse. No chance acquaintance of Vern’s must recognize her as she rode the open road at night. She could only pray that no one would be about and on the open road.
She had searched her mind for an alternative solution, but as mad as this undertaking appeared to be, it also appeared to be the only immediate solution.
Vern believed he was in danger. He said that this man Farley would kill him if he walked into an unexpected situation. He had said he gave Farley misinformation and had to set it right. How had he gotten mixed up with such a nefarious crew?
She knew the stories about the criminal elements that hovered in Romney Marsh. There simply was nothing for it. She had to do this for Vern.
Thus, here she was, with Rye spread out before her.
Drizzle soaked her face and she could feel the weight of her wet cloak on her shoulders. “What in all that is sane, am I actually doing?” She patted her horse’s neck and asked, “Do you know the answer to that? For I do not.”
Even for her, this was rash. She had always been impulsive and independent, but this, this was so wicked.
So many things could go wrong at the night’s end. She had never done anything so reckless and while she enjoyed breaking the rules, like riding astride in breeches, this was quite gravely out of her domain. This wasn’t breaking the rules. This was shattering them beyond repair.
However, she wasn’t doing this for fun. No, indeed. She was not at all enjoying herself. She had to get this done for her brother, who she should, yet couldn’t blame, not entirely. She had adored her father, but had not been blind to his faults. Gaming for one. Indeed he had needed no other for that one single fault had nearly cost them all and now after his death, threatened them still.
Poor Vern. What a burden her father had left him. How could Vern set things right when their hole was so deep and they hadn’t a rope to hold onto? How could Vern take an estate that had been borrowed against for years, an estate with accumulated interest to repay and set everything in order? It had made her brother desperate and of course, desperation clouded his vision. She couldn’t—wouldn’t blame him.
Star squared her shoulders beneath the wadding she had stuffed into her brother’s coat, draped the damp black cloak around her body and gave her horse yet another pat. Her wet kid gloves clung to her fingers and she was beginning to feel the cool night air.
Right, she told herself. Onward, for there was no sense delaying what was apparently the inevitable.
She squeezed her horse’s flanks and he moved forward. It didn’t take long before she was skirting the edge of town over cobbled backstreets to get to the Mermaid Inn, unnoticed.
If she could just get in and out with no one the wiser—if she could just get to the awful brute of a man her brother had described and called Farley—perhaps she could manage. Perhaps with a bit of luck, she could just give the Farley man a message and make good her escape, with no one the wiser. At least then, she would have staved the fiends off and kept Vern safe from harm.
She saw the big bold sign depicting the notorious tavern. The Mermaid Inn was only a short distance ahead. Even with all her resolve, her nerves began to quake. Her mind began to race and she had to steel herself to buck up and keep going.
Star braced herself as she reached the main courtyard, nimbly jumped off and made her way to the back of the inn. She found there a stone courtyard, only dimly lit with one torch. Perfect, she thought. The more I stay to the shadows, the better my chance of doing the deed with no one the wiser.
She tethered her horse to the hitching post and looked around. The livery boys worked the front courtyard and for the time being, she had gone undetected. Zounds! She thought, so far Vern, it appears, that we are safe.
She stood beneath the shelter of the wide roofed portico, the door latch in her hand and took a long gulp of air when a sound at her back startled her and she turned to find a grinning and grimy urchin looking up at her.
“Did ye not hear me, sir? Would ye be wanting yer horse stabled then?”
“No, thank you,” she said in the deepest voice she could manage as she threw him a coin she could ill afford to part with. “I’ll be but a moment and would like to keep him here…right here.”
“Aye then,” the lad said pleased enough to have the coin he held up to the light.
This is dreadful, she thought. She looked around and saw that the corridor led toward many rooms with wide archways. She could hear from the raucous laughter and the squeals of some of the barmaids that everyone was already having a very good time.
This was no place for her, but curiosity nipped at her. Disguised as a lad, she could take a look and see just what went on in the middle of the night at such a place.
She peeked into the first galley. In spite of the fact that she had heard tales of what went on late at night in such establishments, she had never witnessed it first hand. She watched as a large gruff man grabbed a buxom lady and sat her on his lap. They laughed, threw down their drinks and kissed with vigor.
Star couldn’t take her eyes off the young couple. When the man stuffed his large hand into the bodice of the woman’s gown, Star was struck by the sure stirring she experienced. In spite of the fact that she told herself this was all very wickedly outrageous and that she must not watch such things, she was all too fascinated to do anything but watch. She simply couldn’t tear her eyes away from them as they engaged in what she and her friends always talked about in secret—lusty romance.
“You are too young for that and too young to be here,” said a deep male voice at her back.
Startled she spun around before she could think better of it and thanked providence that her hood was pulled low over her wool capped head. She stared into a pair of bright, slightly amused eyes and decided the only thing she could do was say nothing, so she shrugged and did just that.
“What are you doing here, lad?” the tall, very good looking man asked her.
“Edward…by Jove…it is you! I thought it was,” said a man Star knew very well, very well indeed.
“Jules!” exclaimed the man Jules had called Edward, as he turned and found himself heartily embraced and then slapped on the shoulder.
Star made her escape and breathed a sigh of relief that Jules Stamford had not noticed her. Her disguise would not have held up to his scrutiny, of that she was sure.
She poked her head into another chamber and found a room full with men seated at round tables, some playing cards while others were deep in conversation.
How was she going to pick out Farley? Yes, to be sure, Vern had said he had a very distinctive scar across his nose.
“Well, come on in then, lad,” chirped a young barmaid as she sauntered past him and into the wide galley. She had a touch of an Irish brogue in her voice and an interesting sway as she moved. Star watched her, interested because all the men seemed to find her beautiful and called out affectionate terms to her as she passed.
The Irish girl stopped and turned back to her and said, “Well, ain’t ye coming, then?”
Star again used as low and as gruff a voice as she could muster and asked, “Aye then, can you tell me if Farley is here?”
The serving girl put a hand to her hip and said, “Don’t ye have eyes in yer head? He is sitting right there, he is.” She indicated a large gruff man with a shock of graying dark hair seated at a round table with four other men. She turned away and Star breathed a sigh of relief, as she once again bolstered herself and took a step toward her objective. She could see by the cold glint in his eyes that Farley was every bit the hard man she had imagined.
Determined, Star made her way toward him, keeping her head low but taking in every detail of Farley and the men around him. She noted they were all dressed similarly, in what were once white shirts with billowing sleeves, leather vests, wide belts and long wool pants. The four men with Farley wore their wool caps low over their forehead. Farley sported an uncovered head of hair and a toothless smile as his gaze came up from the table and found her.
“Well, well, what do we have here, a young gapeseed?” Farley said with a smile that was neither warm nor inviting. In fact, Star rather felt hit by the warning in the style of the man’s curved lips.
This was a man who would just as soon kill her, as speak with her and she had the immediate urge to turn and run. She cast her eyes around the table and saw that his men looked toward her calculatingly and with the sure hint of an implied threat.
She would have to stand her ground and do what she had come to do. She simply had no choice. This was for Vern.
Luckily the light in the room was dim. She stayed in the shadows. She could see Farley was in no mood to wait while she got up her courage so she dove right into the heart of the matter. Her voice was similar to her brothers and if she could just maintain the lowered gruff voice she had been using, perhaps all would be well.
“I’m here on behalf of m’cousin Vern, the Lord of Berkley Grange,” she said and thought she had imitated a male’s voice tolerably well. She had only detected the smidgeon of a tremble behind the words.
“Are ye now, moonling?” Farley eyed his men, “Look lively, we have a young guest,” he said and pulled out a chair. With his toothless smile, he indicated he wanted her to sit.
“I won’t be staying long, as I shouldn’t be here…but his lordship asked me to deliver a message. He said…you would need to know and that you would understand. I don’t understand it myself, but his lordship says that I don’t need to.”
“Eh, whot’s this?” Farley was no longer smiling. “Whot message?”
“About your plans for the evening, which I already advised you, I don’t know anything about, other than my cousin says, you must be told,” Star said quietly.
“Hell and fire, lad!” Farley was on his feet. “Whot is that ye say?”
“My cousin says he has information that they will be waiting for you and you must cancel your plans. Somehow they got wind of it and that you can’t go forward.”
Farley’s eyes narrowed, “And he knows this as a fact, does he?”
“Aye, but he wouldn’t tell me more…just what I already told you,” Star answered thinking if she lowered her voice any further, it wouldn’t sound real.
“It is a good thing ye don’t know any more than ye do. See—it wouldn’t be healthy for ye even to remember this much. Do ye get m’drift, lad?”
“Right, I’ll be going then.”
“No, ye won’t…not just yet,” Farley said as he reached out and grabbed Star’s wrist.
* * *
Sir Edward and Jules Stamford were friends of long standing. They had attended school together and had discovered kindred spirits in one another. They weren’t quite alike in tastes and aspirations, but in spite of this, found that they had many things in common. Besides that, they genuinely liked one another.
In addition to this, they were both considered to be the very pink of the haute ton, and on every hostess’s list. They both enjoyed Beau Brummell’s fashion which urged gentlemen to adopt coats of darker colors, strictly tailored in style, and cravats intricately tied. However, unlike many of their friends, they chose a Corinthian way of life and were both very much engaged in sports of one kind or another. Sir Edward was relieved to find his old friend, for Jules was certainly one he could trust to hear his tale of woe.
As neither one had ever been romantically involved to the point of wishing to saddle themselves with a wife, he knew he would shock Jules with his story. Thus, he was quite taken aback to discover that Jules had suffered a similar heartache.
They heard each other’s story in a rather short span of time and decided that it was a good thing they had found one another and thus, decided there was only one thing to do and that was to drink—and drink deep.
At length, Jules put down his glass and remarked, “I was sure…but in the end, she wouldn’t have me, you know. She wanted another.”
“Who?” Sir Edward asked intrigued. “Who did she choose over you?”
“She took Ombersly.”
“Upon my soul!” Sir Edward exclaimed much astounded by this. “That old fidget? Why he has twenty-five years on her. She will be lucky if he lasts the year.”
> “Aye, she told me that she was hoping she would not have to tolerate him more than a year and then she would be widowed and rich. She said I should call on her then…or sooner, if it took my fancy to do so,” Jules shrugged. “Never wanted to share the spoils of another…not the sort of road I travel.”
Sir Edward’s brows rose. “Well, I didn’t realize she was such a heartless woman. I am glad you don’t mean to take her up on her offer. No good can come from someone as mercenary as that.” Sir Edward leaned onto his elbows and added grimly, “Know what, Jules? You are better off, I say.”
“I suppose…”
“I am still surprised, for I knew Mary at a time when…but who would have thought Mary Prendergast and Ombersly? I never would have thought she would end up quite so cynical,” Edward said and shook his head.
“I know, Edward. I thought I was…that she was…”
Edward patted his friend on the shoulder, “Aye, but I never thought you and she were suited. However, I am surprised that she led you on like she did. I suppose she wanted you in the wings in case Ombersly didn’t come up to scratch. Damn, but they are the most mysterious creatures…” He stared at his friend, “Never mind all that, tell me what you are doing rusticating in Rye?” Edward looked at him penetratingly, “Much better to drown your sorrows in Brighton where the season is lively enough to force you out of your sorrows.”
“What?” He shook his head, “No, not with the world ready to point and laugh at me. Made a cake of myself over the chit. Need to rusticate, so I came here. Have that little place I inherited some years back. It lies just outside the village. In fact, I think you and I were there when m’uncle was still alive. Remember when we were both sent down because we got hold of that monkey and set it on the headmaster?” Jules chuckled. “We came here because m’father was visiting with his brother,” He sighed. “Good times then. You didn’t want to go home and face your father, so you came here with me. Papa was ever a good-hearted chap,” He sighed and eyed Sir Edward and grinned.