Smuggler's Moon

by Cynthia Wright

  “The salt taxes be wrong,” chimed in a sallow-faced young man to his left. “Everyone do know it.”

  “I agree,” said Sebastian. “And I intend to organize this free-trading enterprise so that the risks will be minimized for everyone. That’s why we are meeting here tonight.” He turned to his erstwhile manservant, who put on a jaunty smile. “Do all of you remember Keswick? He was the stable master at the Hall for many years before kindly agreeing to look after me.”

  Robert Mixstowe, the Polruan ferryman, grinned at Keswick. “I do recall you be a free-trader, too, backalong you was a stuggy young man, Ezra Keswick!” He reached across to clasp the smaller man’s hand. “My mum yet prizes the fine French lace that you did bring her late one night.”

  “Your mum was always kind to me,” Keswick replied with a grin. “It pleased me to find a way to repay her.”

  Sebastian raised a hand to quiet the men. “I trust Keswick more than any man, so he will speak for me if I cannot be present myself. Is that understood?” He waited for everyone to nod before he continued, “If we’re to be successful, we’ll need to carefully address all the aspects of free-trading, for as you all know, it’s much more than just sailing across the Channel and then returning with a lot of goods from France that would be highly taxed by the Crown.”

  “Aye, proper organization be what we want,” Jasper agreed. “If every man be loyal, in his assigned role, we can succeed and be safer, too.”

  “Yes. All right then, let’s get down to it.” As Sebastian spoke, Tristan passed the jug of ale around and the men refilled their cups. “I am your leader. This is my undertaking, and I shall be responsible for planning and executing our runs. Keswick will be at my right hand when we’re at sea, and he’ll be responsible for hiring and overseeing the crew, consulting with me at all times. As for Lord Senwyck—”

  “I am honored to play the role of venturer,” Tristan interjected. His tousled hair shown in the candlelight as he grinned at Sebastian. “I’ll supply not only the capital we need to operate, but also my own fast two-masted lugger, the Peregrine. Additionally, there are hiding places for contraband here on these grounds, and a tunnel that a free-trading ancestor was farsighted enough to dig from the woods to the house.”

  “How thoughtful of him,” Sebastian said with a short laugh. “You must show it to me.”

  “I mean to be useful in other ways, though,” Tristan persisted, looking into the faces of the other men. “I’m certainly not some fusty old squire who needs a cane to ambulate; I want to be part of the crew, if Lord Sebastian will have me.”

  Mixstowe shifted impatiently in his chair. “D’ye suppose we might dispense with the Lord this and Lord that when we be together as free-traders? It do hardly be an occupation that lends itself to such airs!”

  “Just so,” Sebastian agreed with a nod. “Among us, I shall be Trevarre, and Lord Senwyck is Penrose. I suspect we are both more comfortable with those names.”

  “But, my lord,” Keswick protested with a frown, “we really do not think—”

  “I haven’t asked you.” Waving him off, Sebastian continued, “Jasper, as the factor at Trevarre Hall for many years, you have proven yourself to be a skilled administrator. Are you up to the task of organizing matters once the cargo reaches land? We’ll need someone to arrange the landing and transport of goods. And we must hire tub-carriers, as well as batmen to protect them from the Revenue men.”

  “I should like that, sir,” Polarven murmured gruffly. “I should like it very much.”

  “Excellent. And I’ll find a place for you, Keswick, and me to meet, perhaps in Bodinnick, which is just a short distance from Trevarre Hall.”

  “Sir, that be the village where I do live! The barman at the Old Ferry Inn be my nephew, and the inn do have a storeroom, tucked away in back.”

  “Indeed? How convenient.” A knowing smile touched Sebastian’s mouth as he turned to Robert Mixstowe. “I understand that, as the Polruan ferryman, you know everyone in the river valley. Is that true?”

  The burly man puffed out his chest. “Indeed, sir. And I do share the joys and cares of all of ’em. “

  “We shall need a man to handle the distribution of goods once we have brought them ashore. As I see it, there are many avenues you can pursue. If you want to hire another trustworthy fellow to join us who can arrange for a variety of locations where we can safely stow our goods until they can be distributed, I will gladly pay him. It might be better for someone else to make the arrangements for hiding contraband under farmhouse floors, in unused carriages, and churchyards. If you attempt all of those connections on your own, people would surely notice and become suspicious, and as you are all aware, there are more Riding Officers in town and on the cliff tops than ever before.”

  “I do know someone, sir, my own brother, Preston,” Mixstowe replied. His voice dropped to a whisper as he added, “Preston be a farmer, so he do often travel the roads. I know I can speak for him and say we should both be honored to be entrusted with such important duties. Duties that will ensure the success of our…enterprise.”

  “I can see that you mean to be careful, as well,” Sebastian said as he lit a thin cheroot with the guttering candle flame. “We all must exercise absolute caution at all times. One misplaced word or idle boast in a tavern could spell arrest and even death for all of us.” After watching them all nod, wide-eyed, he continued, “So then, Robert, after your brother has overseen the concealment of all our cargo, your job will be to organize its distribution, not only to those who will buy the quantities of brandy, lace, tea, and tobacco we bring, but also to give away the salt I intend to import, to those poor fishermen who cannot afford to pay a ninety percent tax.”

  “Sir?” exclaimed the boy who sat beside Jasper Polarven. “You be plannin’ to buy salt in France and then give it away in Cornwall?”

  “What’s your name, young man?” Sebastian asked.

  “Colvithick, sir. Drew Colvithick. I be here tonight with my Uncle Jasper.”

  Every pair of eyes at the table was trained on Sebastian as he replied coolly, “I can assure you, Colvithick, that I intend to make room for the salt only when we have acquired a principal cargo of luxury goods that will bring us a tidy profit. But what sort of person would I be if I did not address the injustice of local fishermen being taxed at ninety percent to finance the King’s wars? I have seen—and smelled—the pilchard, rotting because the fishermen run out of money to buy the salt to cure them. If local Cornishmen like you will sign on with me, the least I can do is pledge to help your families and friends put food on their tables.”

  Polarven was blinking in wonderment. “My God, sir, you’ll make us proud.”

  “Just do your jobs, all of you, and give me your solemn word that you’ll not breathe a word to anyone, not your wives or your parents or your closest friends. The Revenue men are out in force, and they must not get wind of us.”

  Robert Mixstowe wore a bemused smile as he said, “Ye do have a challenge, sir, if you mean to keep her ladyship in the dark. I did make her acquaintance when my ferry came upon her, rowing madly across the River Fowey! She are a lively one all right!”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Sebastian rejoined with a wry smile, “but my wife must not know what we are doing, for her own safety as well as ours. Don’t worry; I shall deal with her.”

  “We wish you good fortune in that endeavor, my lord!” One of Keswick’s pixie brows flew up as he spoke. “Her ladyship may be more formidable than the Revenue Men.”

  * * *

  After the clock on the cottage mantel had struck eleven and everyone had gone, Sebastian stood with Tristan and Keswick at the edge of the moon-silvered gardens.

  “Goodnight,” he told their host. “I’ll be in touch very soon.”

  “Wait. Don’t go,” Tristan said in hushed tones. “I want to show you something,”

  Sebastian watched his friend look around as if suspecting that someone might be lurking in t
he shadowed trees. “It’s late—”

  “You must see this,” Tristan whispered urgently. “It’s not far, perhaps halfway to the creek.”

  And so they set out into the darkest depths of the ancient woods, Tristan holding a lantern up before them to light the way down the steep, forgotten path. Owls hooted and there were rustling noises in the undergrowth as animals scurried into their burrows.

  After perhaps a quarter-mile, he turned off the path and led them through the leaf-carpeted underbrush before stopping at what appeared to be a giant rock. “We’re here.”

  Tired and annoyed, Sebastian glanced around in the darkness. Even the moon was blocked by the dense canopy of leaves overhead. “And where the bloody hell might ‘here’ be?”

  Tristan took a few steps toward a raised ivy-covered earthen bank and gestured to the other two men. “Come closer.” He raised the lantern to faintly illuminate what appeared to be a cave, carved into the hillside. The opening was framed with slabs of granite.

  “Ah…” Sebastian exhaled with a sound of wonder. “I begin to understand.”

  “I remember this place now,” came Keswick’s excited whisper. “I heard that there might even be a tunnel inside, but old Lord Senwyck wouldn’t let anyone come close enough to discover the truth.”

  “That’s because my father was financing smugglers himself,” Tristan confirmed. “There’s a tunnel leading from the cave to the thatched cottage where we met tonight, but it’s full of rubble. At the moment, that passage is unusable.”

  “What a fantastic discovery!” Sebastian’s grin flashed in the darkness as he patted the younger man on the back. “We’ll have a better look by daylight, but you’ve given me plenty to dream about in the meantime.”

  Keswick arched a brow. “Considering her ladyship’s suspicions, we hope you do not talk in your sleep!”

  Chapter 18

  Julia sat on the high-backed wooden settle near the parlor fireplace, sipping a small glass of port as she contemplated the paintings that Primmie had haphazardly propped against the raised hearth.

  “You should go to bed,” she told the girl. “I’ve kept you up far too long.”

  “I don’t like to leave you alone when his lordship be away.” Primmie gave the ticking clock a meaningful glance just as it began to chime eleven-thirty.

  “Shall we think about the best places to hang these paintings? Since my husband is apparently too busy to make these decisions, he shouldn’t mind if I do.”

  The glowing fire, banked for the night, combined with the light from numerous candles to illuminate the newly-unpacked paintings.

  “Her ladyship be fair artistic,” Primmie observed.

  “I think so, too,” said Julia. “I saw some of her paintings when we were at Caverleigh House in London. The new owners, André and Devon Raveneau, sent these with us. I believe that my husband chose them.”

  “This one be lovely. I do know this spot on the cliffs,” the girl said, pointing to the watercolor that had hung above Lady Caverleigh’s writing table in London. “You can make out the shape of the Brittany coast there, on a day with sun.”

  Julia lifted the framed canvas and stared at the painting. Sebastian’s mother had chosen her colors so carefully; the blues of the water and sky were unique and evocative, and there were bright dots of wildflowers adorning the cliffs on either side of a beckoning path. In the distance, partially shrouded by soft drifts of clouds, Julia perceived the faint, almost dreamlike shape of the French coast.

  “It’s clear that she had special feelings for this scene,” she whispered. “I would love to find this spot one day myself.”

  Primmie had perched on the edge of the hearth and, although she nodded in reply, her eyelids were drooping. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “We should go to bed.” But even as Julia spoke, she felt someone watching her. At first it seemed to be the stern Lord Caverleigh, who glared from his portrait as if he were angry with the artist. Julia leaned forward slightly, gazing back at him, suddenly curious about the unfriendly looking man who would have been her father-in-law.

  “What the devil are you doing?” came a male voice from the darkened kitchen.

  “Sebastian?”

  “Who else would it be?” he demanded as he strode into the parlor, drawing off his riding gloves. In the dimly lit, low-ceilinged room, he seemed taller than usual. “Primmie, you ought to retire if you’re going to be of any use to Mrs. Snuggs in the morning. Go on, then.”

  Blushing deeply, she clambered to her feet and rushed toward the door. “As you say, my lord! Goodnight, my lady.”

  Sebastian watched the girl leave before stopping at the cellaret to splash some brandy into a glass. “I would have thought you’d be asleep long ago, Julia.”

  “Primmie and I decided to unwrap the paintings the Raveneaus sent with us from London. Since you appear to be so occupied with other matters, I thought I would make myself useful. You don’t mind, do you?”

  He narrowed his eyes at his wife, bracing himself to resist the appeal of her lovely yet faintly defiant profile. There was too much at stake to let himself soften toward her now. “You are an impossible minx.”

  “Truly?” came her tart reply. “No one has ever called me anything so appealing before.”

  “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

  “I can assure you, I know that,” Julia laughed. “But don’t be cross with me. Which reminds me, I’ve been sitting here looking at this portrait of your father and thinking that he appears to have been a very cross man. Is that so?”

  “Father?” His voice flattened, but he came to sit next to her on the wooden settle. He wanted to tell her that Lord Caverleigh had been a heartless bastard, but that would carry them into a conversation he couldn’t bear to have. “Perhaps he was suffering with dyspepsia while posing for that portrait.”

  “Did your mother paint it?”

  “Julia, you are too curious for your own good.”

  “You know my family and all their faults. Can I not know yours, even from a distance?”

  “My parents are dead,” he said harshly. “And if no one has killed my brother yet, he might as well be dead. There is no point in talking about them.”

  “But you have a sister—”

  “Don’t think that I’ve forgotten Isabella. She’s the victim in all of this, the one who deserved a normal, happy life and yet cannot have it now.”

  “But, we may be able to remedy that, don’t you think so? I would welcome your sister into our home.”

  “You make our home sound so cozy and domestic!” It seemed that the walls were closing in on him as he swallowed the rest of the brandy. “Of course, our marriage is not what it appears to be. And furthermore, I won’t bring my sister to Trevarre Hall. Perhaps once I have regained Severn Park, I’ll send for her to visit.”

  “Do you really mean for us to leave Cornwall?”

  He gave a derisive laugh. “Have I not made that clear?”

  A long silence stretched between them. Although he was uncomfortable in the situation, he had no desire to leave Julia’s side, and even less desire to examine the reason why.

  “Sebastian?” She touched him and the muscles of his forearm hardened under her hand. “Won’t you tell me why you despise Cornwall so? The longer I am here, the more I love it and the more I wonder at your cold feelings.”

  Sebastian stared into the dying fire, feeling as if his parents were watching him from their separate portraits propped against the hearth. At length, he sighed and offered up a few fragments of the truth. “It’s a long story, too long for this hour. I will say that, during my childhood, I was often left here on my own, with only a sour, selfish governess and a few servants who couldn’t wait to misbehave once my parents were gone. My memories of this estate are mostly miserable.”

  “Did something particular happen?”

  Sebastian sat up straight and glanced over at Julia, touched somehow by the gentle tone of her voice. Her steady,
compassionate gaze made him long to share more with her, yet he wasn’t sure he could bear the pain if he released the armor forged over so many years.

  “The past is dead; there is nothing to be gained by dredging it up. It’s enough for you to know that when you and I arrived here, I had a completely different point of view, my dear.” Rising, he gathered up the paintings. “It’s been a long evening and I am very tired. Please don’t ask any more questions.”

  With that, he headed toward the stairway, steeling himself not to look back at his wife.

  * * *

  In the soft, lavender light of dawn, Julia lay next to Sebastian in their bed and watched him sleep. These were the moments she secretly cherished, for there was no sign of the hard man who held her so relentlessly at arm’s length, and he couldn’t avert his face from her gaze.

  As long as he slept, she could imagine that things were different between them.

  Secretly, Julia found her husband unutterably appealing. Just looking at his proud nose, the sooty spikes of his eyelashes, and especially the firm yet sensual contours of his mouth made her long for him in a way that could only be described as carnal.

  “Mmm.” Still apparently asleep, Sebastian turned partly on his side, toward her.

  Holding her breath, Julia waited. His arm moved under the covers and his strong hand settled over the mound of her breast. Instantly, she was suffused with longing for him. Her nipple puckered against the warmth of his palm and she felt the wetness between her legs.

  Sebastian’s eyes were still closed, his breathing regular. Julia lifted the sheet by inches to peek at his hand, loving the sight of his masculine fingers against the pale swell of her flesh. Oh, if only they could openly share such moments with tenderness and love!