“You don’t think anyone’s going to heed what the General says?”
“Well,” The publican put his finger to the side of his nose. “What do you think? There’s a long score to be settled; a long tale of hunger and hardship, impressment and the cat. What do you reckon Brown at the Bell’s going to do, that lost his leg at Trafalgar and got no pension, no prize money, nothing?”
“You reckon Glinde will be in it too?”
“I tell you, everyone’s going to be in it. It’s just no one speaks of it till the time’s ripe.”
“Then we’d best start quick for the Dower House and the hall,” said his brother. “Or they’ll be there first from Glinde. How’ll we manage? Mail coach stops at Glinde. They’ll know first when it don’t come. I do surely want to be first at the Dower House.”
“And the hall. Fat pickings there, too. I reckon we’d best have someone waiting where the Glinde road turns off from the Brighton one. Shepherd up there will do it. He’s twisted in, all right and tight. Glinde mail coach runs along with the Brighton one up to there. They pass regular as clockwork, ten to five in the morning. One gets to Brighton at quarter past six; the other to Glinde, half past.”
“How’ll Shepherd let us know?” asked Seth.
“Now, that is a question. Reckon we’d better build a beacon up on Chyngford Point. Shepherd can watch the road from there. Black as pitch, ’twill be, that early in the morning. He’ll see the coach lights, hear them blow up for the change in Lewes.”
“But he won’t,” objected Seth. “That’s just what he won’t see. If the coaches don’t run.”
“Hell!” Jewkes senior scratched his head. “You’re right. Well, he gives it twenty minutes, like the General said they was to in Glinde, then he lights his beacon. We’ll see it here; they won’t in Glinde, hill’s between.”
“Someone will have to watch down here, too,” said Seth.
“We’ll take it in turns. You and I and young Pete. And whatever the General says, we’ll lead the attack on the Dower House and the hall. The hands can have the mill. I’m after better pickings. There’s old Mrs. Warrender and the girls at the hall. Shall we toss for them, or take it in turns?”
“You’ve surely got your head screwed on all right,” said his brother admiringly. “No need to toss; there’ll be plenty for all. When should we start the watch, d’you think?”
“Let’s see. Arms off to London tomorrow night. Take a few days through the deep lanes. Got to give the General time to get them handed out. He keeps his counsel, does that one. He may mean to send some of them up north. So, say a week. And now, we’d, best get thinking about Miss Nosy Warrender.”
“I hope it’s not too late already.”
“You surely do forget to listen to what the General says. Didn’t you hear him say she’d not want to tell on account of having to admit that she’d been fossicking about the country in breeches? Give us a bit of time, the General says, and I reckon he’s right as usual. But let’s get going, just the same.”
Betty Chilver gave Kate the note when she got back from the hall next afternoon. “I’m in dead trouble” commanded Christopher’s bold scrawl. “Help me out this once, for the love of God or I’m done for every way. Blown up. Sunk. I’m to guide a party of Volunteers tonight. Across the park. Can’t do it. Do it for me? Meet them at the gap in the wall. Take them across to the Lewes road. It’s life or death, Kate. Mine.” And then the unmistakable signature, the cross he had always used for Christopher.
She had never wanted to do anything less. But how could she refuse? In the dangerous double game he was playing, any false move might so easily mean death. There was desperation in every line of the short note. And no one she could consult. Not without betraying Chris. He had saved her life. She owed him this. He must have his chance to serve his country, regain his place, in society, become himself again. If she must stand in for him this once more, well she must.
Less used to her than Boney, George Warren’s horse, Firefly, resisted her first attempts to saddle him up and get him out of the stable, and she was afraid that she might be late for the rendezvous. But once clear of the stable he took her swiftly and surely along the familiar track to where the party of Volunteers were waiting for her. A quick greeting exchanged, she wheeled Firefly to ride, beside the lieutenant in charge and guide the little, party across the park to the other gap, the one that gave on to the road from Glinde to Lewes.
She had never been this way in the dark, and she did not much like it, nor yet the slow pace set by the taciturn lieutenant, but when she protested at this, he gave a quick, gruff explanation. This was an exercise in timing. The men were carrying loads to simulate smuggled goods. She could leave them at the Lewes road and make good time back across the park. “If that’s your way, Mr. Warrender,” he said in the rather rough local accent that had surprised her from the first. But then, with the long war grinding on so slowly, all kinds of people were being accepted for the Volunteers, and this young man had doubtless risen to his lieutenancy most creditably, by merit alone.
It was very dark, with rain in the air, a proper smuggler’s night, she thought, and wished herself safe home in her bed. This must be her last appearance as Kit Warrender. She would give him up, hand the part back to her brother with relief, and, oh, she would be glad when this night’s work was done!
They reached the gap at last and there was the usual business of clearing a way through it, the men working and cursing under their breath, while the lieutenant and Kate sat their horses and listened. “Come a little this way,” said the lieutenant quietly when Kate thought the gap must be almost cleared. “There’s something I want to give you. A note. Quiet-like so they don’t know.”
“Yes?” She edged her horse beside his up along the park wall a little way, glad that she was to get some kind of explanation from Chris.
“Here!” He held out something that showed faintly lighter than the darkness.
“Thanks.” But between them, somehow, they fumbled it and the paper fell to the ground.
“Damnation!” said the lieutenant. “I’m sorry, sir.” He turned his horse away, apparently taking it for granted that it was Kate who would dismount and search for the note.
She did so with extreme reluctance, anxiously aware that Firefly was both a taller and more restless horse than. Boney and that remounting was not likely to be easy. But first she must find the note. Firefly had moved a little, wanting to follow the lieutenant’s horse, and she had to lead him back along the wall by the reins looped over her arm. And as she did so, she heard a body of horsemen approaching at a gallop down the road from Glinde.
“Scatter!” The lieutenant had heard it, too, but why the surprising order, which she could hear being swiftly obeyed, some men leaping on to their horses, others running for it into the darkness. And she was dismounted. She pulled Firefly nearer the wall, hoping to use it as a kind of sideways mounting block, and as she did so was aware of movement in the darkness behind her. Someone come to help? She turned quickly towards them and so missed the blow that had been levelled at her head, and received it instead on the arm that held Firefly’s reins. Sick with pain and shock, she lost the reins and stood swaying on her feet, a helpless target for the next blow. But it did not come. Another man had emerged from the darkness and set upon her attacker. As she listened, still in shock, to the grunting, desperate fight, the troop of horsemen came storming down the road. A quick order and they were through the gap. No question but that these were dragoons from the barracks. So—who were her companions?
A lantern flared, and an officer and two troopers came up the wall, alerted by the continuing sound of the struggle beside her. “Separate them,” said the officer, and, to Kate: “And you, stand still if you value your life.”
She could hardly have done anything else. The pain in her arm was excruciating, but she must not faint. To do so meant inevitable discovery. She stood, silent, swaying, fighting for consciousness, and watched half-seei
ng as the two troopers separated the fighting men and brought them forward to the light
The officer leaned down to scrutinise their faces and let out a satisfied exclamation. “Jewkes of the shop,” he said. “Red-handed, God bless all informers. And who else have we? You—” to the other man—“who are you?” And, as he hesitated: “No use, man. I know your villain’s face well enough, just can’t place it”
“Sam Chilver, sir, but no villain.” Kate started as the remembered voice penetrated her flickering consciousness. What centuries it seemed since she had encountered Sam and the stranger, that first time, and Sam, Chilver’s cousin, who worked on Warren farm, had recognised her by Boney.
“No villain?” sneered the officer. “Then what the hell were you doing helping a parcel of smugglers run their goods, through Hawth Park? We’ve picked up enough already to make it a transporting matter.” He turned to Kate. “And you’re the elusive Mr. Warrender, if my informant’s to be trusted, which it really seems he is. Delighted to meet you, Mr. Warrender, and escort you where you belong, to Glinde gaol. We’ve wondered about you often enough. Now you’re beyond any protecting.”
“We’ll see about that.” Kate assumed a bravado she was very far from feeling. Her thoughts in a whirl, she tried to make some kind of sense of what had happened. The “Volunteers” she had led had been smugglers in disguise. And they had expected to be attacked, had proved it by the speed of their escape. A trap set for her, by Jewkes. And by Christopher? His note. She would not believe it. A forgery? Possible. That bold hand would be easy to imitate, and she had not seen it since his “death.”
That must be it. Jewkes had recognised her, knew her for a threat. That first blow had been meant to kill her and leave him free to escape with his gang. It was only by good luck and Sam Chilver’s intervention that she had survived. As it was, she was in trouble enough, caught red-handed with a gang of smugglers. At all costs, she must stick to her male alias as long as she could.
It was going to be difficult. She put out her good hand to support herself against the wall, and fought off another fit of faintness.
“Sir.” Sam Chilver spoke again to the officer. “Mr. Warrender’s hurt. Jewkes attacked him from behind. I saw it. Let me help him, sir. I doubt he can ride.”
“When thieves fall out, eh?” said the officer. “Very well. Mr. Warrender, your word not to try and escape?”
“Willingly,” said Kate. “And my word for Chilver, too. It’s true: my right hand’s useless.” She turned to Sam Chilver. “Thank you,” she said with feeling. “On the head, I think that blow would have killed me.”
“I think it was meant to,” he said.
“That’s enough,” the officer interrupted. “Talk can wait for the morning and the magistrate.”
The magistrate. Through the agony of the ride to Glinde, with Sam Chilver beside her, steadying her in the saddle, she kept coming back to the two questions: which magistrate, and what should she do? For her mother’s sake, for Christopher’s, for her own, even for Lord Hawth’s, she must try to keep the secret of her real identity as close as she could. But what hope had she?
Chilver leaned nearer to her, on the pretence of steadying her in the saddle. “Don’t fret, miss,” he whispered, “as a gentleman, you’ve a right to a cell to yourself.”
“Don’t leave me, Sam!” Thank God, he was an old childhood friend from the days when she and Chris, had been free of the farm.
“Stop your whispering there,” came the officer’s sharp command.
Half-conscious when they clattered into Glinde, Kate heard Chilver speak up roundly for her right to a cell to herself. “My master, Mr. Warren, is a good friend to Mr. Warrender,” he told the officer. “And so is Lord Hawth. They won’t be best pleased if he don’t get treated with courtesy until I have had a chance to say my say and prove him innocent.”
“Innocent!” sneered the officer. “And guiding a parcel of smugglers on their way to the deep lanes! But, just the same, for tonight he shall be treated as the gentleman he isn’t.”
“Thank you,” Kate managed it with difficulty. “I’d like Chilver with me, please. My word still holds.”
“No need,” said the officer. “Get out of Glinde gaol, you’ll be clever.”
Alone at last, “Let’s see that arm,” said Chilver. “You ought to have the doctor, miss.”
“Sam, I can’t.” They both knew it must mean discovery. With a nervous glance at the door, she let him help her out of greatcoat and jacket, but the pain as he removed this tighter sleeve was too much at last, and she fainted.
“Miss! Miss!” Chilver was shaking her good shoulder, gently. “They’ll be here any minute. We must have you in your coat again.” She must have passed from faint into sleep, and found herself lying now, comfortably enough save for the throbbing of her arm, immobile in a sling, the greatcoat acting as blanket.
“Not the jacket, Sam. I couldn’t”
“No need. The greatcoat will be well enough. Over the sling, see.” He helped her to sit up, shakily. “It’s good news, miss. Nothing broken; nothing but a terrible great bruise. You were lucky, and no mistake.”
“Lucky!” She looked around the dismal little cell. “What’s lucky about this?”
“We’re alive, ain’t we?” It was unanswerable. “And you’ll get us out of this. I know you will, one way or t’other. I’m counting on you, miss. You’ll speak for me? I’ve been wanting to get free of them ever since I saw what bloody business they meant, but how could I, not twisted in as I was? Now you’ll save me, miss, won’t you? I knew it for my chance, the minute I recognised your voice.”
“I hope I can, Sam.” She wished she shared his confidence.
“Hell and damnation!” Reaching home very late the night before, Lord Hawth had given strict orders that he was not to be disturbed, and here was Parsons actually shaking him awake. “What the devil?”
“It’s Mrs. Warrender to see you, my lord. She says it’s urgent. I hope I did right to wake you. She looks, dreadfully, sir.”
“What time is it?”
“Early. She wouldn’t come, sir, if it wasn’t…”
“Urgent. Tell her ten minutes, Parsons. Give her breakfast, if she’s not had it.”
“I doubt she’ll take it, sir, the way she looks.”
“Well, try.” Impatiently, as he swung his long legs out of bed.
He found Mrs. Warrender sitting in his big chair in the study, her hands twisting together, her face drawn as if with pain. The breakfast he had ordered stood untouched on the table beside her. “My lord.” She jumped to her feet as he entered the room. “Thank you for coming so quick. I’m sorry—”
“No need.” He took both her cold hands in his. “I’m yours to command. What is it?”
“Kate.” She had been crying but checked it with a gallant effort and looked up at him, the two last tears creeping unheeded down her pale cheeks. “She’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” She was shaking all over, and he pushed her gently back into his chair. “When?”
“Last night. Her bed’s not been slept in. My lord, I think I must tell you …” She paused, her hands writhing together.
“Eloped, by God!” With that cousin of hers. I should have known. Last night, you say? It’s a long start, but I’ll do my best. You can count on me. Did she leave a note? Any clue as to where they’ve gone?”
“No! My lord, you don’t understand.” She had been trying in vain to interrupt him.
“I think I do,” grimly. “A fine fool I’ve made of myself. And she of me. Don’t cry, ma’am. I’ve said I’ll help, and I mean it. I’ll catch them, never fear. Bring her back to you, make him do right by her if he don’t mean to.”
“I’m not crying!” At last she managed to intervene. “It’s not what you think, my lord. Please … please listen! Try to understand. Poor Kate …”
“Poor Kate, indeed! Making you so unhappy. I … I …” And then, furiously: “What is it, Parsons
?”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” If Parsons had looked anxious before, he looked almost frantic now. “It’s that new lieutenant from the barracks, with prisoners. Taken last night. He wants your lordship to commit them for trial.” Oddly, Parsons was looking not at his master but beyond him, to where. Mrs. Warrender sat in his chair. “It’s young Mr. Warrender,” he said, “Sam Chilver from Warren Farm and Jewkes from the shop at Tidemills. Taken red-handed with a gang of smugglers in the park last night. The lieutenant says. He asks for an instant committal, my lord. Wants to get back to barracks.”
“Young Warrender! Impossible!” Following Parsons’ gaze, Hawth turned just in time to catch Mrs. Warrender as she fell fainting from his chair. “Tell the lieutenant I’ll see him in five minutes.” She seemed featherlight in his arms. “Send for Miss Lintott. No! Fetch my daughter! And Betty Parsons from the Dower House.” He carried his fragile burden upstairs to his own room and laid her on his bed. She was breathing more easily now, a little colour coming back to her cheeks. “Ah, Sue.” She had appeared, breathless, from the nursery wing. “Mrs. Warrender’s fainted. Take care of her? Sal volatile? Burnt feathers? I rely on you. Betty Parsons is coming, but I have to go. I’m needed as a magistrate. It must come first.” Was he explaining to her or to himself? “Take care of her, Sue.”
“What happened, father?”
“There’s trouble. No time now. I have to go. That young cousin of hers has been arrested.”
“Kit Warrender?” For an extraordinary minute he thought Sue was going to faint, too. Then she came towards him, hands outstretched. “Father—”
“No time, I said. And look to your patient, child. I rely on you.”
“But, father—”
“No!” Hurrying downstairs, he tried to order his surging thoughts. Kit Warrender arrested. So, where was Kate? Waiting for him somewhere, presumably, poor girl, so no urgency about her. And Kit? Did this mean that he had actually thrown in his lot with the revolutionaries after all, or, more likely, that they had smoked him at last and arranged for his arrest by the new lieutenant from the barracks, who must be ignorant of the general warning out to keep hands off him. Either way, for Kate’s sake, or rather for Mrs. Warrender’s, he must arrange to see the young man alone and find out where Kate was.
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