The man chuckled though he tutted at Alex’s lack of zeal in prosecuting the crime. Of course, he could not know there was no horse or valise. “You’ll have had business in Tayport, then, sir?
“No, I accompanied a friend who meant to make his way to Perth, and we parted at Tayport. I did not have time for a leisurely tour of Scotland. It seemed an easy enough thing to ride to the Firth of Forth and find a ship to take me south.”
“There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip. But you’ll find a boat at Kirkaldy to carry you across the firth. Or there might be a ship, though there is not much shipping there now. And you would be able to buy another shirt and stockings, as well, if you wish. Even a coat.”
“Oh, ay. I would be tired indeed of the ones I’m wearing by the time I reach home.” He looked a veritable ragamuffin. Even laundering had not restored his shirt and stockings to their original state. His coat and breeches were unbrushed because the inn was unaccustomed to offering such services for the country folk and laborers who stayed there. And he could not have let someone brush his coat anyway lest the remaining coins be discovered. Alex had shaken both garments thoroughly and trimmed the dangling threads that had secured the facings and the guineas within, but their look was not much improved.
“If you cross the firth, you will likely find a ship at Leith.”
“First I must go to Kirkaldy then.”
Then he had to spin a skein of lies about his manor in Lincolnshire and the obligations that called him home. It was lucky he’d once visited Elphinstone’s family property in that county and knew something of it. It was a fine line between giving so little explanation that the hearer’s suspicions were roused and giving so many details that one was caught out in a lie.
Chapter 22
The next day was not better.
She was heavy-eyed in the morning and trying to decide whether to write to Mr. Lattimer in the hope that he would know what to do. When her papa strode into the housekeeper’s room where she was writing out a list of household sundries to be purchased, she was so startled, she dropped her pen, spotting both the list and her gown with ink. He flung a newspaper down on the desk, to the further detriment of her shopping list. It would be necessary to write it out anew.
“You might have told me, when I asked you about de Veil.” The words were spoken quite softly, a sign that Papa was very angry indeed.
“Told you what, sir?”
“By God, I don’t know which is worse: the accusation that you poisoned your uncle or this! Read it!” He indicated a paragraph with a shaking finger. Rage, not fear, she concluded.
It has now been revealed that the young lady who seemed so likely a suspect in the death by arsenical poisoning of a relative has not been prosecuted because the true murderer is known, though currently not in England. Several witnesses who are deemed reliable, and who are unconnected with the young lady, Mistress J—S—, and with each other, have given statements that a certain merchant ship’s officer posed as a messenger to deliver poisoned potted shrimp to the late Roger Markham, giving the lady’s name as the sender. The officer, strongly attracted to the lady, who had rebuffed his advances, chose to avenge his wounded pride by making it appear she was guilty of murder. His ship having sailed soon after the evil deed, it has not been possible to arrest him, but port authorities have been notified that when his ship next makes port, he is to be detained.
There was a good deal more, both leading up to the passage and afterward, but Jane read no more, partly because she was overwhelmed by relief and gratitude, and partly because her father snatched the paper away again. Someone had acted to save her.
“How do you explain this, Jane?” Her father’s voice was ominously soft.
This would be an excellent time to swoon. She had no notion how much she dare say about the imaginary suitor, in case there should be another fragment or two of information in the paper. And what witnesses? Alas, fainting was an art she had never learned and did not feel she could feign successfully.
“My acquaintance with this person was of the slightest and came about only through the mischance of my losing my balance on uneven cobbles in the street. I encountered him again in the neighborhood on two or three other occasions. He was civil and well-spoken, but it never occurred to me he had any romantical interest in me. We hardly exchanged more than polite greetings on those occasions, until the last, when he proposed marriage. I fear my first impulse was to laugh, thinking it was merely banter. On realizing he was serious, I tried to decline as courteously as I could, but I must have injured his feelings. Though how he could suppose any lady would accept an offer of marriage on such short acquaintance and without the agreement of her family, I cannot think.” The man’s behavior as she had described it sounded perfectly demented—but then, men were often rather odd creatures. And to poison in revenge for a slighted proposal, and not even the lady, but a relative of hers, was the work of a madman. From that perspective, the tale made some sense.
“I did not bring my children up to lie. You may have been sworn to secrecy, but that cannot apply to your father.”
Jane found herself speechless. It almost sounded as if he knew the story in the paper was a ruse. Yet how could he? Another scold is coming.
He sighed. “It is all of a piece with your behavior in general. I really do not know what the world is coming to! Everything seems turned upside down. All the Whigs’ doing, make no mistake.” He frowned at her for a moment as if it were her fault, which it probably was. “This sort of mishap does not occur to girls who do not go out unaccompanied. In the future, you will not go out without a maid.”
She opened her mouth to protest that she would either have to take Betty away from the kitchen, which would raise Mrs. Merry’s ire, or take the parlor maid, which would inconvenience everyone else. It was easier to argue that suggestion than to counter his accusation she had lied, which was impossible.
“I do not care to discuss it, my dear. You must nearly have completed whatever is required at Markham’s—your—house. It can hardly be necessary to visit that part of town often. When you must…” His forehead creased in annoyance. “You must take a maid, or I must accompany you. If the church were closer, you might interest yourself in parish activities. However, you should ask the parson if there is some sewing to be done for the church or the poor that you might occupy yourself with at home.” He grunted, which made Jane think of some irritable large animal—a boar, perhaps. “Though that is all beside the main point at the moment.” Her father’s expression did not encourage her to expect it would be good news.
“A Mr. Lattimer approached me at my club and requested a private interview. I almost felt I’d seen him before, but I cannot think where it could have been.”
Jane, with years of practice in keeping her face agreeable or at least bland, did not show surprise at the name.
“He is connected with the government. I am not perfectly sure how, as the document he showed me was quite circumspect. From what he said, I think it must be either the excise, as the affair involves smuggling, or perhaps the War Office, as he mentioned it touched upon the security of the realm. I was extremely sorry to learn you were not truthful with me from the beginning, Jane. Although, given what Lattimer told me, I understand you were sworn to secrecy. Quite improper for a young lady to—but I have already expressed myself upon that topic. I could wish they had spun some other tale to account for the murderer claiming you had sent the shrimps. I suppose the defense of our country must take precedence even over a young lady’s reputation. But I do not see why you should not have told me of the suspicious activity you witnessed. I could then have communicated it to the appropriate office, and your name would not have come into public notice.”
“I should have done so, sir,” Jane agreed mendaciously.
“Ay, well, enough said of that matter. Mr. Lattimer is of the opinion you should go out of town for a time. He tells me some members of the smugglers’ ring you exposed escaped ca
pture and may seek revenge. In the morning you will be called for by Mr. and Mrs. Lattimer, who will take you to their country home, where you will be safe. I can scarcely imagine a scurvy pack of smugglers would make an attempt on your life, but Lattimer claims smugglers have murdered witnesses before, and your testimony as to what you saw may be required in court. More humiliation for our family! You had best pack now, so as to be ready.”
“Yes, indeed, Papa. How very vexing.”
“I hope spending two weeks, or perhaps more, as the Lattimers’ guest will not turn your head. Our family is well born enough to consort with any society, but we do not aspire to mix with the aristocracy. Not that Lattimer comes of any better stock than we do, but I believe he comes in contact even with the highest levels of society. His home is in Bloomsbury Square.”
She returned some vague reply and whisked out, several ideas revolving in her head.
How exceeding strange. As she folded the best of her chemises and petticoats and sorted out her stockings (some being too much mended to be taken), she concluded Mr. Lattimer must be more important than she had supposed. Clearly, he was responsible for the tale he had told her father, which was at least a distorted version of the truth. She doubted he had orchestrated the embarrassing story in the papers which publicly absolved her of involvement in her uncle’s murder. He would have managed to do it with greater subtlety. Now he proposed to spirit her away to protect her from “smugglers.” Was it really necessary for any purpose except to add verisimilitude to the smuggling gang story? Remembering Charles Pleasaunce’s cold eyes, Jane decided she was not sorry to be hidden away somewhere.
If only the Lattimers’ home was a country gentleman’s house, a simple establishment. It would be ridiculous to hide her among fashionable people who entertained when the idea was to keep her out of sight. Which was fortunate, as her wardrobe was not extensive. She had her yellow brocade taffeta, of course. It was three years old but still pretty. She had one each of a mantua, a robe à l’anglaise, and a robe à la française which were not too worn, as well as the assorted accessories necessary to them. Stays. Panniers to hold the skirts out. Her simple cotton gowns needed no panniers, only petticoats. Shoes, handkerchiefs, fichus, caps, hats, gloves. She sent the footman up to the attic for two trunks.
She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening inspecting the household accounts and giving the cook and butler instructions. Several tiresome cleaning projects to be done before autumn set in would have to be postponed until her return. She and Mrs. Merry consulted The Compleat City and Country Cook to find a new way to dress mutton, as her father had been complaining of lack of variety in Mrs. Merry’s dinners. The cook did not like to attempt new dishes unless she was told to do so, and even then liked to discuss them thoroughly with Jane first. The frayed drapery in the drawing room needed mending (which Elvira could do better than Jane if only she would), but it could wait. Airing the draperies would have to wait. The remaining time until she retired she spent in making a list of all the other chores which she would have to attend to when she came back from her stay with the Lattimers and writing to Jessup to let him know she would be out of town.
Jane awoke in the middle of the night with her heart pounding. At first she thought a nightmare had wakened her, though she could not remember one. Then she wondered if she had been startled back to consciousness by some noise. She listened for another sound, then threw back the covers and tiptoed to the door of her chamber. She opened it gingerly, stepped into the corridor, and padded toward the stair despite the darkness. She had lived here her entire life. She stopped at the head of the stairs, straining to hear. If someone had broken in, she would have heard something different from its normal repertory of creaks and rattles. The wind sighed around the house when it blew from a certain quarter. When she conceded to herself that nothing was stirring within (bar the occasional mouse, possibly), she returned to bed, now too wide awake to sleep.
Only after she had lain down and tried to compose herself to sleep did it occur to her that she was afraid. Not for herself: Alex Gordon had assured her she was safe when she was first suspected of causing her uncle’s death, and so she had not really feared she would be tried for the crime. Somehow, he and Sir Thomas de Veil and Mr. Lattimer among them had averted the danger. Now Mr. Lattimer felt Charles Pleasaunce might be a danger to her and meant to hide her. Having formed a high opinion of his good sense, she was willing to be guided by him. No, she was not afraid for herself.
But Mr. Gordon was in Scotland now—if he were not dead, which was a terrible thought. She hoped fervently he was only suffering the normal delays of travel. Was anyone taking as much interest in his safety as Mr. Lattimer was showing in hers? If she were staying at the Lattimers’ home, it would be easy for Mr. Lattimer to let her know when he had news of Alex, which was another reason to be perfectly willing to leave town for a visit in the country. Finally, she drifted back to sleep, imagining she had received word from her host that Mr. Gordon was returned, none the worse for his journey. Or that he arrived at the Lattimers’ country house, tired and dusty and smiling, to assure her of his safety and…
Chapter 23
A farmer friend of the innkeeper gave him a ride to Kirkaldy. He no longer looked like a gentleman, and after parting with the farmer, he changed his upper-class speech for that of a clerk or tradesman. Alex gave the Kirkaldy Town House a wide berth; he felt wary of the authorities at the moment. From a seller of secondhand clothing, he bought a coarse shirt and a well-worn coat of the sort a small farmer might wear and an old valise in which to carry the shirt and his old coat. At the first opportunity, he would remove the remaining coins from it.
He decided against going to Leith. In its favor, it was near Edinburgh, where his cousin Hugh lived. Hugh might be able to help him, but Edinburgh would be dangerous for a fugitive. And Stowe would likely have made for Leith to find a ship.
The stagecoach would take about a week from Edinburgh to London, and that assuming the weather held. If he wanted to go by sea, which was really the only practical means of getting back to London, he must find another port. If he went west, he might sail from Glasgow, which would mean a longer voyage. Worse, going to Glasgow carried the risk of crossing the path of the Jacobite army. He might gather some useful intelligence, but he would have no way of passing it on—and he might be taken as a spy. So he had best find a ship here.
There was no ship at dock in Kirkaldy, but a warehouseman directed him to a carrier who had a shipment of striped and checked linen to deliver to the Susan McKay, lying at Burntisland, half a dozen miles away.
“Too bad it could not be shipped directly from Kirkaldy,” Alex said to the freightman, “although it’s money for you.”
“Ay, and it should have gone from here, but the linen must be inspected and stamped, you’ll ken, and the stampmaster being gey slow to do it, it missed the sailing. Cheaper for the manufactory to pay me to haul it to Burntisland than to pay the fine for unstamped linen. And you are paying me a bit, so ’tis a good day for me.”
Alex was prepared to explain that he had been sent north on an errand by his employer, but the Scot was chatty and incurious and had a good deal to say about the loss of foreign trade resulting from the union with England and about the odd things he had sometimes been hired to transport.
He went with the carrier to the ship to arrange for his passage and was told he might come aboard immediately.
“Though if I was you, I’d have a meal ashore first,” the mate said.
While finishing dinner in a tavern near the docks, he picked up a copy of the Newcastle Courant someone had left on the bench and glanced idly at it. One of the items captured his attention:
It is reported by our Correspondent in Scotland that a follower of the Young Pretender has been captured. One Alec or Alexander Gordon, believed to be attempting to smuggle arms to the rebel cause, is being held in gaol at Dundee.
The newspaper was days old, having been published on th
e sixth of September, before the prisoners had been freed. Fortunate that he’d given Elphinstone’s name at that inn. But if news of his arrest had appeared in a provincial English journal, it might be reprinted in one of the London papers. He must continue to be Thomas Elphinstone until he returned to London, resumed his own name, and reported the confusion to his father. He did not look forward to that meeting. He could imagine the high points: secretive, deceitful, no sense, reckless, ship you off to the Colonies…
It was all a tangle. He had done what he could for Rupert Stowe, and Stowe had scorned his help and even cast suspicion on him. It was not surprising. Alex had formed a fair notion of the fellow’s character before they left London. He hoped Jane—Mistress Jane—would understand. She was a practical young lady, and probably knew her half brother tolerably well.
On the other hand, he had destroyed the muskets and the cannon, though he could not be certain about the latter. The cannon barrels might have survived the explosion and fire, having been made to survive repeated firing of cannon balls. At the very least, the wooden wheels and carriages which supported the cannon barrels would have to be replaced. The gunpowder had been destroyed. He had accomplished something.
Chapter 24
For once, Elvira had bestirred herself to leave her bedroom early. She and Jane’s father were entertaining the Lattimers in the morning room, while the Stowes’ footman loaded Jane’s trunks. Jane hurried down from one last inspection of her bedchamber to make sure she had forgotten nothing.
Stepmama, all agoggle, said, “Here are Mr. and Mrs. Lattimer, come to take you for a visit, Jane. I was never so surprised. Of course, I never knew any of your mother’s friends.”
Jane interpreted this as meaning that her papa had not confided to her the real reason for her “visit” with the Lattimers.
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