by Sahara Kelly
“Very well. Then that’s how it shall be.” Rosaline rose from the table, folded Edmund’s letter and tucked it away in her pocket. “Let us go and find out what our Mr. Farnwell wants to discuss.”
Chapter Eleven
Mr. Farnwell looked a lot better than the last time Rosaline had seen him.
“Good day to you, Mr. Farnwell. I am glad you are up and around.” She walked around Edmund’s desk and seated herself. “I understand you wish to speak with me? I am sorry my husband is not here. I’m sure he would have been pleased to know you have recovered so well.”
The older man nodded, his hat in his hand. “Thank ye, m’Lady. And fer what yer did that night. Truth is, I was a bit turned around in me head, like. Just made fer the first place I could see lights.”
“Well, we’re glad you found us and that we could help.” Rosaline gestured to one of the chairs across from the desk. “Won’t you sit and tell me what’s on your mind?”
Farnwell glanced at Chidwell. “He gonna stay?”
Chidwell’s look was frosty enough to turn fire into icicles.
Rosaline hid a grin. “He’s merely making sure we have everything that we need.” She looked up. “Thank you, Chidwell. I believe Mr. Farnwell and I will do nicely now.”
With a respectful nod that did not lessen the severity of that icy glare one whit, Chidwell took himself off, carefully closing the door behind him.
Rosaline would have bet ten shillings that his next move was plastering his ear against the oak paneling.
“That’s better, Ma’am. Thank ye again.”
“So…to the matter at hand.” Rosaline prompted the conversation forward.
“I hear’d you ‘as a boat.”
“Good God.” She sat up. “I only learned of that a couple of hours ago. How the hell…” She was so surprised she didn’t even apologize for her language.
Farnwell grinned, showing the lack of at least three teeth. “Word spreads quick, m’Lady.”
“Like wildfire it would seem.” She blinked. “Well, yes. Since you know, there’s no need to keep it a secret, I suppose. I have inherited ownership of a vessel, and even now my husband is sailing it around the coast and toward home. Here. Ridlington.” She caught herself up. “Or wherever one puts these things. I am not quite clear on the details.”
“No yer ain’t.” Farnwell chuckled as she lifted her chin. “An’ that’s no matter. Yer ain’t sailing ‘er. But, m’Lady, please remember—a ship or a boat—it’s always ‘er. Not it.” He paused, giving her time to absorb that important maritime fact. “Got it?”
“Not it. Got it.”
“Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now, yer’ll be thinkin’ that this boat is gonna cost yer, right? An’ everyone knows it’s a battle fer the old coinage in this place.” He held up his hand before she could say a word. “No shame in that, m’Lady. Yer are tryin’ to get back on yer feet and we respect that ‘round here.”
“Indeed. Um…thank you.” What else could one say?
“So here’s why I come to see yer. You got a boat. I need a boat.”
“You do?” Rosaline was at a loss.
“I do. I had one but I lost ‘er.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Sank right in front of me ol’ eyes, she did. Ungrateful bitch.” He coughed. “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’Lady.”
Rosaline waved it aside. “Might this have been the night we met? You did seem a little bedraggled.”
He sighed. “Yes. So you see why I need a boat.”
“Not really?”
“Well, it’s like this.” He took a breath. “I can’t sail no more. Not proper, like I want to.”
“Why ever not?”
He looked down. “I get these dizzy spells, yer see. Lose me balance more often than I should, an’ I can’t afford to do that on deck.”
She looked at him closely. “Is this a result of your wound, Tom?”
“No, m’Lady.” He shook his head. “Been ‘appening off an’ on fer a few months now. I reckon I’m jes’ gettin’ on in years and it’s takin’ a toll.”
“I am sorry to hear it, indeed. But age does catch up with all of us. It is one of life’s inevitabilities, I’m afraid.” She glanced at him with sympathy. “But I don’t see how my boat will help.”
“It’s…complicated.” Farnwell looked up, meeting her gaze. “I done quite a bit of business across the channel in my time.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, that kind o’business. An’ it’s been good fer me an’ the lads that sailed with me. We kept food on the table in a lot o’lean years, m’Lady. I ain’t sorry fer any of it.”
“I can see that.”
“So after things changed and the business wasn’t so hot no more, we ‘ad to look around fer new opportunities, yer see.”
“Most wise.”
“Weren’t many,” he said sadly. “Not that times were ‘ard, but there wasn’t that thrill no more. No dark nights with lights out and prayin’ fer fog to hide us ’til we’d got the stuff unloaded…”
His sigh was wistful and Rosaline allowed him a moment or two to wallow in his private nostalgia.
“And now?” She patiently tugged at the verbal reins, leading him ever onward. Toward what, she had absolutely no clue at all.
Recalled to the present, he straightened. “Right then. Turns out that after all the nasty stuff over t’other side o’ the channel, there was plenty of people who wanted to get out. And was willin’ to pay. So we turned our boat into a bit of a ferry, and made some trips with a different kind of cargo.”
Rosaline absorbed that information. “Goodness me. It makes sense.” She thought about it. “They might not be aristocrats in fear of losing their heads, but there are probably others who have run afoul of the Emperor or his government in one way or another.”
“Spies, I reckon, m’Lady. Doin’ their duty to our King, and riskin’ everythin’ fer a jot of information that might help our great country.” His chin rose proudly.
Rosaline, who was thinking more along the lines of who might have slept with the wrong wife and thus incurred the wrath of the Paris’s inner circle, merely nodded. “Quite.”
“So here we are.”
“Er…where, exactly?”
“Well, I got a customer what’s payin’ a lot fer a trip ‘ome. And I ain’t got a boat. Yer got a boat. And ’is Lordship is one of the finest captains I ever ‘eard of.”
“Wait.” Rosaline’s eyes widened. “You want the Baron to captain your ship? To sail it—her—across the channel and pick up some spy?”
“Yes.”
“What if it’s not a spy but a French criminal?”
“So?”
“But…but…” She sputtered out of words for a few moments. “Mr. Farnwell, you’re asking his Lordship to risk everything for an unknown person.”
“Think he couldn’t do it?”
She frowned. “Of course he could. That’s not the point.”
“Look, yer Ladyship. This ‘ere’s a little backwater. ’Twas the reason we did so good all those years bringin’ in cargoes right under the Revenue Officers’ noses. This bay, this coastline? It’s made for jes’ that kind o’ thing. Yer man knows his ships and he knows the sea. Yer got nothin’ to worry about.” A sly grin crossed his wrinkled face. “Sceptin’ how to spend all them guineas.”
“Oh dear.” She stood and paced for a few moments, winding up at the window, staring out into the grey and cloudy morning, and doing her best to keep her mind grounded on the important issues, matters of loyalty to the country and the risks involved.
The exercise was an utter failure. “Er…how many guineas?”
Farnwell’s wide smile was pure sunshine.
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think you’ve convinced me, Mr. Farnwell, because you haven’t. But I will agree to put your proposal in front of my husband.” She tried to regain a little of her composure. “He will, of course, need to know all the
particulars, including what kind of remuneration will be involved.” She scrambled. “He will have to deal with a crew, and possibly repairs to the ship. I do not know any of those details at all.”
Farnwell rose. “Very good, Ma’am. And yer right. You gotta talk to ‘is Lordship, tell ‘im about this and make ‘im understand it’s important. The person who wants passage is well-greased, I’m told. And carries a lot of it with him.”
“A titled gentleman? A man of honest wealth?”
Farnwell raised an eyebrow. “Money ain’t got no smell, my Lady.”
Rosaline was forced to agree to that blunt statement. “True.”
The old man turned, then paused, looking over his shoulder. “If’n things work out, there’d be close to a thousand guineas in it fer the Baron.”
On that astounding statement, he dipped his head and continued to the door, letting himself out, and leaving Rosaline standing, gaping at his last words.
Then she staggered to the desk and collapsed into the chair, ignoring the protesting squeak. “Dear God above. Tom Farnwell is either a terribly wicked villain or an angel in disguise.”
Chidwell peered around the door. “My Lady. Are you well?”
She focused on his face. “Yes, I believe so, thank you. At least I think so. I’ll know better when my husband returns.”
Confused, her butler nodded. “If you say so, Madam. Lunch will be served shortly.”
“Lunch. Ah yes. Good.”
Completely unable to think about anything as mundane as food, Rosaline leaned her elbows on her husband’s desk, and prayed for him to return with haste. She really needed to talk this matter over with him.
Now.
*~~*~~*
Edmund was a mite surprised at the warmth of his welcome back to the Chase. He hadn’t been away that long, surely?
But his wife seemed ecstatic, dashing here and there, welcoming both himself and James, and listening with apparently half an ear to his account of their sea voyage. She managed to get James into his guest room, deal with luggage, announce that dinner would be set back an hour so that they could rest and change, and all while holding tightly to his wrist. Finally, she all but dragged him out of the hall and up the stairs.
Hiding a grin, Edmund wondered if he should go away more often. It certainly brought out the delightfully passionate side of his wife.
His hands had already unbuttoned his travel jacket by the time she’d tugged him into her room, and he reached for her as she slammed the door behind her.
“I missed you, my dear.” He slid his arms around her waist.
“Yes, yes, I missed you too. But that can wait.” She freed herself. “Something very important has come up and it cannot be delayed.”
Casting a mournful glance at the front of his breeches, Edmund sighed. “I know.”
“You know about Farnwell’s proposition?”
“What?” Edmund’s mouth gaped. “What are you talking about, woman?”
Giving a short exasperated huff, Rosaline sat down on the bed and patted the quilt. “Here. Sit. Let me tell you.” She stood abruptly. “No, wait. You should change. Let’s do this in your room and I’ll talk while you dress for dinner.”
Shaking his head, he followed his unusually distracted wife into his own room, took her by the shoulders and forcibly pushed her down into one of the side chairs. “Now. Take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”
“Very well.” She shot him a look that might have been referred to as a glare. He thought of it more as impatience. “While you were on the high seas, Tom Farnwell came to see me. Well actually it was before you were on the high seas. He appeared after breakfast on the very morning I got your letter about the boat. Ship.” She wrinkled her nose in irritation. “Whatever. That man already knew about it. How, you might ask? Well, that remains a mystery and he intends to keep it so.”
Halfway through a brief and refreshing splash in water from the ewer, Edmund looked up. “He knew? That soon?”
“As near as I can tell, your letter took two days to reach me. Yes, Tom Farnwell already knew when he arrived here right behind the news.”
“I’ll be damned.” Edmund dried himself off.
“Pretty much what I said too.” Rosaline rolled her eyes. “I mean, really. It’s a bit much when a dubious personage arrives on the heels of such exciting developments, only to announce that he was familiar with the situation.”
“Quite.” Edmund put on a clean shirt. “So what was his visit about, other than to boast of his intelligence-gathering skills?”
“He needs my boat.”
There was silence for a second or two, and then Edmund’s head emerged from the depths of the linen folds. “I hate to repeat myself, but…what?”
“I see I must explain.”
“Yes, you bloody well should.”
“No need to get angry, Edmund.”
“If you don’t explain within the next minute, you will see exactly how angry I can get.” He glowered at her. “Now spill it.”
A grin curled her lips. “Spill it?”
He put every ounce of ferocity he possessed into the look he gave her in return.
She humored him and subsided. “Very well. Mr. Farnwell is, as he related to me, an experienced smuggler who has done very well for himself in the past with runs across the channel. He brought back various cargoes which raised sufficient funds to keep not only him, but more than a few families around here, in food and other necessities. It was, according to him, a good business.”
Edmund tied his cravat, his eyes on the folds, his mind on his wife’s revelations. “I cannot say I approve, of course, but I understand the need.”
“Well now the profits in smuggling brandy and other illegal goods is no longer there, thanks to the changes in our government’s policies. So the ever-resourceful Farnwell business switched from inanimate barrels to animated passengers.” She took a breath. “He’s offering passage back to England for those who might otherwise not fare too well in present-day France.”
“Good God.” This stopped Edmund cold. “You mean he’s smuggling out political prisoners?”
“I have no idea.” She tilted her head to one side. “I doubt that they’re escaped prisoners so much as people who are no longer in favor. And yes, there’s a possibility they might be spies.”
Edmund sighed. “And here I thought I’d left all that sort of thing behind when I resigned my commission.”
“Put these on.” Rosaline got up, went to the large cupboard and removed a pair of evening breeches.
“Yes dear.” Edmund did as he was bid, hoping his wife might take the chance to admire his bare backside. Since he was turned away from her, he couldn’t be sure, but he did smile at the sound of her clearing her throat.
“Anyway, the reason he came to see me is because he, that’s Tom himself, isn’t up to the work anymore. He’s getting dizzy spells, he says, and has been for a while. He doesn’t want to ask a crew to make the journey with a captain who might collapse at the worst possible moment.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“As was I.” She took a breath. “That’s why he’d like you to make a run in his place.”
That pronouncement brought Edmund to a complete standstill and he stared at Rosaline in astonishment for more than a few seconds.
“Me?” he squeaked. Then he cleared his throat and tried again. “Me? He wants me to take our ship over to France and pick up God knows who, and bring them back to England?”
“Yes.”
“Me? Does the man know I’m a bloody Baron? That I can’t go haring off on some half-brained channel crossing to pick up a passenger who might turn out to be a spy for the wrong damned side?”
Rosaline nodded. “I understand, and I agree with everything you’ve said.”
“I should hope so.” Edmund finished buttoning his breeches and reached for his boots. “I’ve never heard anything half so preposterous. No wonder you wa
nted to tell me this right away. I’ll have words with Mr. Farnwell at the earliest moment.”
“Er…”
“What else?” Edmund’s intuition shivered a little.
“Well…there is one thing.”
He gulped. “You’d better tell me.”
“There’s a thousand guineas in it, for us.”
The clock ticked away a full minute. Then Edmund sank down onto the foot of the bed. “Bloody hell.”
*~~*~~*
Dinner that evening was a mixture of storytelling, laughter and the occasional comfortable silence as the diners enjoyed their meal.
Rosaline was naturally delighted to have the family reunited, and welcomed the presence of James FitzArden in their midst. He was always a pleasant companion, but it would seem that he felt even more at home at Ridlington. He was relaxed, funny and so much a part of the conversation that he was “James” to everyone before the dessert course was served.
The proprieties having been thus disposed of, Rosaline demanded to know the details of their maritime adventures.
“For while I believe my husband to be quite happy at the wheel of a ship, I would love to know what you thought—and did—during your voyage, James.” She reached for her wine. “Do tell.”
James sighed. “Damn you, woman. I was hoping not to have to embarrass myself.”
“Oh dear.” Hecate chuckled. “Not a good sailor, then, James?”
He turned to her, his hand raised dramatically to his forehead. “You know how it is with us delicate types, my dear. One whiff of the sea air—or in this case the mud at low tide—and the body revolts.”
Letitia laughed outright. “Seasick, were you?”
“Profoundly.”
“And often.” Edmund threw in his mite. “But…to give James his due…he stayed above deck and got past all that before we reached Dover. Afterwards, he was an admirable crewman.”
“Thank you, Captain.” James stood, saluted, and sat down again, to a modest round of applause. “Don’t ever make me do that again.”
Edmund shot a quick glance at Rosaline. “I will endeavor to make sure you keep your feet on dry land.”