A sailor paused to puff on a clay pipe and admire the sight of work going forward. He muttered, “Our Jem’s heard the cargo is to go to a house some ten miles west, on the way to Cupar. Bought within the year by an Englishman.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Pleasant, or some such thing, they say.”
“Has Captain Sykes taken any action?”
“He’s sent a man to the dragoons as are standing by.”
“Thank you. And thank Captain Sykes on my behalf.”
“Ay.” The tar ambled off down the street.
Alex continued his tour of the town in a fit of abstraction. He was almost surprised the affair was over, but for the arrival of the troops to capture the cargo and arrest anyone in the house. His part and Stowe’s was complete; it would be wise to leave St. Andrews as soon as possible. They had made no plans, not knowing when the Sea Mew would arrive. The Lark’s remaining in port to make repairs had been meant to give them time to meet the Sea Mew, with the idea that they would then go back aboard, apparently to sail farther north but in reality to return to London. There was no need to wait about longer and every reason to go. All the same…He ought to feel satisfied with the outcome. He had persuaded Rupert to trust him somewhat and betrayed Rupert’s errand to the proper authorities, not that he regretted doing so. The thought of good muskets in the hands of Highlanders and Jacobites did not bear thinking of. But he had hoped to persuade him to turn Crown evidence, saving him from prosecution. Jane would be heartsick if the fool were punished as he deserved.
He toyed with the idea of hiring a horse and riding out in the direction of Cupar. Charles Pleasaunce would not be there. Surely he would have met the ship with the additional payment rather than entrusting the work to Rupert Stowe. If he had known Rupert long, he must be aware of his weakness of character. Or would he? Rupert was the follower to Pleasaunce’s leader. Maybe the strength of his character had never been tested before, leaving Pleasaunce to believe him a reliable subordinate. With no stress upon him and no opportunity to make free with someone else’s money, he must appear no less reliable than any other young man of good family. Alex admitted to himself he had not seen Rupert at his best.
He rejected the idea of riding out to look at the house on the Cupar road. If the conspirators should see him and take fright, the dragoons’ raid might be jeopardized. Worse, the Jacobites might be able to transfer the cargo to some other location. This was a perfect occasion to heed his father’s instruction to leave the job to those paid to do it.
It was midafternoon when Rupert returned to the inn. Alex had been trying to calculate how many wagonloads the muskets would fill, given that one was a freight dray pulled by a pair of Shire horses and the others were farm carts, drawn by one or two horses. If one horse could pull a load of a thousand pounds…. But Shire horses—or whatever the Scottish equivalent was called—could pull amazing heavy loads. The law regarding legal freight loads would not necessarily apply in Scotland, which had its own laws. The limiting factor was more likely to be the wagons and the roads than the horses. Why had his schoolmasters never set them arithmetical problems which might have been of some practical use? He might have paid more attention.
Stowe entered, looking hot and rather anxious. “Gordon, I think I must ride out to my friend’s house and make sure his new furnishings are safely bestowed. I shall be staying there a few days.” He rushed on, “I would be glad of your company, but I can hardly invite you in my friend’s absence, and with the renovations in progress and only two or three servants to act as caretakers, the house will be in turmoil. And no doubt you will wish to return to your employment.”
“I see. But would it not be better to lodge at an inn nearby? I misdoubt the servants will be able to give you a tolerable dinner or well-aired bedding, with repairs in progress and the owner not in residence.”
“Oh, well,” said Stowe airily, “It can hardly be worse than the accommodations on shipboard. Ah…how do you mean to travel back to London?”
“I believe I will hire a horse, rather than be packed into a stage coach, like salt cod in a keg. A ship would be best, but St. Andrews appears not to be a busy port.”
“A capital notion. No doubt I’ll see you back in Town.”
Alex smiled a little at Stowe’s evident relief, while thinking, Now how the devil am I to drag the fool clear of this?
Chapter 16
“Papa?” She slipped into his study and closed the door behind her.
“What is it, Jane?” Her father looked up from the litter of tradesmen’s bills on his desk. One of the bills was from a fashionable perfumer. The amount made her wince.
“I’ve just come from Uncle Markham’s house—”
“Your house now, my dear.”
“Yes, of course. Were you aware Rupert has left for Scotland?”
Evidently not, to judge from her father’s blank stare. “Scotland? How’s this?”
On reading the message Mr. Gordon had left for her, she had at first been at a loss to know what to do. Not that he had asked her to take any action immediately or hinted at what he must have suspected, but really! Obviously, this sudden journey must be connected to the importation of those muskets for…call it criminal purposes.
She had decided she must mention Rupert’s absence because, if her father had known of his plans, it would have seemed very peculiar if she had said nothing. Even if he were unaware of Rupert’s activities, when he eventually learned of Rupert’s absence, she would have to explain why she had not told him and how could she? It would be necessary to reveal Rupert’s involvement in some mad scheme involving smuggled muskets and her own meetings with Mr. Gordon. No, impossible! Her father might well not believe in Rupert’s misdeeds, but he would surely censure her own behavior. Yet how could she have done other than assist Mr. Gordon?
“I learned he had left when I went there to make a list of draperies and bed curtains that must be replaced. Some of them are very old and worn,” she added.
“But why?”
“The house will fetch a better rent if the hangings—” She faltered a little at the last word, and cleared her throat to cover it. “—are not faded and worn thin.”
“I mean, why go to Scotland?” her papa rapped out.
“He did not tell the staff nor leave me any message. Could he have believed the fellow who was following him had discovered his whereabouts and thought it best to flee?”
“Good God, he could be lying dead in an alley!”
“Oh, I don’t think so, sir, as he took with him the gentleman hired to catalog the library.”
“What use would some cursed librarian be to him?”
“Mr. Gordon appears to have a good deal of common sense and to be quite athletic. At the least, if Rupert were attacked and murdered, Mr. Gordon would report it to us. It’s more likely yet he would be able to thwart such an attempt.”
“You seem to know a great deal about the fellow.” Her father’s brows drew together in suspicion.
“Mr. Harris brought him to Wych Street when I was present, thinking it proper I should know who he had hired. I formed my opinion of him then. I believe Mr. Gordon has relatives in Scotland. Perhaps he suggested some place of safety there.” How she hoped Papa never mentioned Alex to Mr. Harris, who would be surprised to hear he had hired anyone to catalogue the library.
“Jane, I hardly think Scotland can be considered a refuge. Mayhap you do not know it, but there is a good deal of unrest there at the moment.”
“I had heard something of Highland clans gathering. It’s said some expect war.”
“Rebellion,” he corrected, repressively.
“Would Rupert know it?”
“In fact, he did. He mentioned it a month or two past.” Her father snorted, and added dryly, “Young men are always excited by such things.”
“That is no doubt why so many of them are eager to don a uniform and take arms.”
“I am sure your mama has told yo
u gentlemen do not care for young ladies to display too much perception.”
Stepmama.
“Papa, if a gentleman is disgusted by a young lady’s intelligence, the young lady is better off not to engage his interest.”
“A sensible young lady does not display her intelligence—if she has any! Her place in life is to make her husband and family comfortable, not to air her opinions. Claire Pleasaunce is a pattern of feminine behavior. You should try to emulate her. However! I am extremely concerned about Rupert. To go to Scotland—and drag your librarian fellow along—is very strange. Though if you are correct, Gordon may be some protection. I don’t suppose Rupert or he had the wit to mention to the servants where in Scotland they were going.”
She dared not admit knowing they were bound for St. Andrews. Papa would surely not gallop off to Scotland in pursuit…but he might mention Rupert’s destination to his good friend, Mr. Pleasaunce. It seemed unwise to share her knowledge.
“No, sir.”
“Well, I would as soon he were not in London, if he is in the right about this cutthroat pursuing him. I expect he’ll do well enough and have a little adventure for entertainment.” Jane recognized this as her father’s attempt to convince himself.
A little adventure, indeed.
It occurred to her suddenly that she should not have mentioned Gordon. If her father should repeat it to Mr. Pleasaunce, it might get back to Charles and cause him to wonder why her brother had taken a stranger along on a most secret errand. Yet another thing to worry about!
Chapter 17
Alex watched Stowe ride up North Street. Damnation! If Stowe were at the house when the dragoons arrived, he would be taken with whatever other conspirators were there. If only Rupert had confided fully in him. Then Alex could have offered him the safety of testifying against Pleasaunce and the others. He could have preserved Jane’s brother with no fuss. It would not have sat well with Alex to turn on his co-conspirators, but Stowe did not seem to be a man of very tender conscience.
Now it would be more difficult. Troops would probably be in place tonight, after dark. It seemed unlikely anyone would try to move the muskets from the house immediately, with the area so full of ardent Presbyterians. There could not be enough Jacobite sympathizers nearby to need so many guns and collect them discreetly, a few at a time. They must intend to send the arms on farther north. What a feather-brained idea! Had he planned it, he would have had the Sea Mew make its delivery at some more northerly port. If all their planning was equally bad, the London papers might be correct that there was no danger. That was a cheering thought. Rupert, however, remained a problem. His problem, unfortunately.
Rupert must be induced to leave that house. Therefore, Alex must set out soon himself. He could allege an urgent message for Rupert and tell him that he had overheard a plan for the house to be searched. That would be fraught with risk. Rupert might tell the others, causing them to fly. He wanted to save Stowe, but he did not want the rest to escape to continue their schemes.
If Alex turned up to speak to Stowe, the real miscreants might suspect Alex and…er…what was his father’s phrase? Cut your throat or drop you in the Solway. Or the Firth of Tay, of course. He could approach the officer in charge of the dragoon detachment and explain the matter. On the whole, that seemed the wisest choice.
He hired a horse at the livery stable and set out only half an hour after Rupert, who had already provided himself with a mount before parting from Gordon. His one concern at the moment was not catching up to Rupert, as the fellow who had followed him from Oxford had done.
The stableman had given him directions. Alex had no doubt of being able to find the house: a two-story stone house with outbuildings, set well back from the road but visible from it. As twilight came on, he was within a quarter mile of it and dismounted in a copse near the road, where the horse could be concealed. At dusk, he moved cautiously toward the rear of the house, stooping to take advantage of the cover of a low wall that ran some hundred yards behind it. One of the outbuildings stood just on the other side of his wall, on a diagonal from the house. A few paces farther on, the wall ended at another wall. Scotland was rich in stones, if nothing else. He squatted to consider his next move and rest the muscles unaccustomed to traveling in a crouch.
Alex had surveyed the surrounding area while some daylight remained. It was difficult to know how the soldiers could approach the place undetected. Apart from some small spinneys, the house was surrounded by neat fields crisscrossed at intervals by low stone walls. The troops must know this countryside and plan to arrive after the occupants of the house had gone to bed.
What if Captain Sykes’s message to the garrison had miscarried or had been ignored? Sometimes things go wrong: Sykes’s contact might be away, or sick, or dead, with no one else briefed on the captain’s identity as a government agent. Worrying about such things was madness. He must assume the authorities would arrive, because he could do nothing by himself. If a party did come to take the cases away, he could not stop them. They were likely to be more suspicious than Rupert or even the household would be and unlikely to be convinced by any story he could spin.
The thing to do was meet the soldiers far enough from the house to be able to talk to their officer. From which direction would they come? Sykes had not mentioned where the detachment would wait, but surely they’d come by the road from one direction or the other. If he waited there, he must surely hear their approach—the horses’ snorting, the clop of hooves, the clink and jingle of metal—however quietly they tried to move.
He took a quick look over his wall toward the house. A faint glow escaped chinks in the shutters in several windows of the house. No lights shone from the buildings that were probably the stable, barn, and dairy. No servant would be doing chores in the dark. Rising again to a crouch, he followed his wall toward the one ahead, rather than go back the way he’d come. He would get back to the road from the other side of the property. There was a hut near the meeting of his wall with the one that ran east-west. It would give him a little cover from anyone who might be looking out of the house when he went over.
Coming to the end of the wall, he took a deep breath, unfolded himself and hopped over—
—and came down on something that was remarkably uneven.
“Umphf!”
It gave way with a thud and an almost musical jingling. And that muffled “Umphf!” It wriggled. Trying to disentangle himself and scramble to his feet, Alex felt something chilly and tube-like under his hand: the barrel of a musket. Now he heard furtive noises around him. Oh, damn.
“Make a sound, and you are a dead man,” whispered a husky voice behind him. “My bayonet’s at your throat. You—pull him off Riggs.”
The struggling man under him had to be helped to rise. “Caught me in me privates with his knee, he did,” he muttered, voice muffled as he was bent almost double.
“Never mind that now,” Husky Voice said. “Keep quiet. We don’t want to alert them.”
Feeling the cool edge of sharp steel a quarter inch above his neckcloth, Alex forbore to struggle. He tried not even to breathe. His captor’s breathing, by contrast, was the more audible. A bird gave a chirrup or two in a tree. Rough hands pulled him to his feet, and the steel followed, never leaving his Adam’s apple.
“Move.”
The man who had helped him up twisted his arms behind him. The other, whose blade was against his throat, said in his ear, “We are going over the wall, carefully this time, do you understand?”
Alex gave a minuscule nod.
The maneuver was awkward as clearly none of them wanted to risk a fall which might be noisy or fatal…for someone.
The door was on the side nearest them. As it opened, Alex heard a faint rustling in the shed.
The new voice was almost too low to make out. “In here, Corporal.”
There was something like a dance as the corporal circled to face him, the bayonet leaving Alex’s neck only for a moment, and backed thr
ough the door. More hands grabbed him, and the door closed behind him. The second voice addressed someone. “Gag him and bind him with his neckcloth. We’ll deal with him after we’ve rounded up the rest.”
“Ay, sir.”
“You, fellow—Corporal Fisk will withdraw his bayonet. But if you struggle or shout, you’ll find it’s still close enough.”
A hand succeeded in freeing his neckcloth.
Alex cleared his throat and said softly, “Sir? I am no Jacobite. My name is Alex Gordon, and it was I who sent to the garrison to come here. I must speak with you about—”
Fabric ripped.
“I’ve no time now,” came the well-bred drawl. “You’re a civilian, you’ve a Scots name, and you’re a damned nuisance. I’ll sort you out after. Private, get on with it.”
“I’ve a letter from the highest authority, bearing upon your actions here tonight. It’s in an inner pocket of my coat on the left side.”
“I can’t read it by starlight, and I’ll be damned if I light a lantern to warn that nest of vipers we’re here.”
A wad of more-or-less clean linen was stuffed into his mouth. A length of his mutilated stock secured it. Alex held his hands at an angle that he hoped would provide enough slack in the bindings to let him free them later.
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