My Lady Smuggler

by Margaret Bennett

  Sylvia was more taciturn, though by her expression, the second course of mushy peas and soggy potatoes were hardly an improvement over the boiled chicken. Throughout the meal, she directed a number of peculiar looks toward him, but it wasn’t until the watery custard arrived that she broke her silence. “I am surprised a man as large as yourself can survive on such meager fair, my lord?”

  “Sylvia dear, what must the Earl think of your manners,” Lady Chadlington interjected, scowling at her daughter.

  “I only refer to the fact that Lord Melvyrn is a sportsman, a noted Corinthian, in fact,” Sylvia said to her mother before turning to Melvyrn. “Also, rumor has it that you gallop your horse across the cliffs daily, my lord.”

  “What you hear is true, Miss Chadlington,” Melvyrn replied. “I’ve been used to a much more active life. But alas, this last bout of fever has quite undone me. Still, I do take my stallion out and pay every evening for it. Such a strenuous ride quite puts me off my feed. You may have noticed how little I ate?”

  “I am sorry, my lord,” replied Sylvia contritely, lowering her long dark lashes which contrasted dramatically against her creamy white complexion. “I never meant to pry.”

  Melvyrn bit back a sarcastic reply. “Of course not, and I appreciate your concern.” The chit knew exactly what she was doing. While appearing to be a guileless innocent, she’d let him know that people suspected his health wasn’t as precarious as he wanted them to believe. But Melvyrn had been on the Town too long. He knew every trick the matchmaking mamas and their conniving daughters ever conceived, and so he had not been gulled by her demure act. She was a beauty, all right, but he wanted nothing to do with her. It was time for him to press home his advantage. “Then you will understand, Miss Chadlington, that I tire easily and by nightfall am completely worn out.”

  “Having a somewhat delicate constitution myself,” Lady Chadlington said, “of course we understand.”

  Thus, after retiring to the drawing room and a few sips of tepid tea, Lady Chadlington soon made to take her leave. Sylvia, however, showed less interest in departing, but she did not gainsay her mother.

  With his unwanted guests headed out the front door, Melvyrn pulled out his pocket watch and saw that he was behind schedule. Taking the stairs two at a time, he sincerely hoped Bailey had thought to bring up something decent for him to eat while he changed clothes.

  *** Chapter 4 ***

  The full moon’s brightness competed with the night’s sky strewn with stars, bathing the landscape in a silvery light. Even with soot rubbed across her forehead and over her high cheekbones, she worried she might be recognized by Melvyrn and knew the best disguise would have been a darker night. But Tolly claimed the revenuers were less likely to expect any smuggling activities going on under a bright moon.

  Thomas, the Hall’s head groom, had saddled Devon, a sleek chestnut with a black mane and tail, and had the gelding waiting for her when she reached the stable.

  “He’s been frisky all day, Miss Rosalind,” Thomas said in a gravelly whisper. “Knowed he’d be going out for a run tonight, he did.”

  Rubbing the length of the chestnut’s velvety nose, Rosalind smiled at the old man who’d taught her to ride. “It amazes me how well he can move in the dark.”

  “He’s a savvy one, all right,” replied Thomas while giving her a hand up so she could put her left foot in the stirrup, then throw her other leg over the horse’s back. When she’d first enlisted the help of certain staff members at Ashford Hall, Thomas had loudly voiced his disapproval. First, he’d stated that he’d never knew a lady to ride astride. To compound the insult, she’d feared he have an apoplexy when she asked him to teacher her how. But like everyone else, once Thomas understood she meant to proceed with her plan with or without his help, he did all he could to aid and abet his mistress. In fact, every member of the Hall’s staff had helped in some way to save the lives of brave Englishmen fighting this war.

  “Ready Miss,” Thomas said and then mounted a sturdy sorrel.

  Rosalind nodded and put her heel to Devon’s flank, and together, they took off at a trot across the fields to the woods behind the Hall toward the cliffs. They rode in silence, keeping a watchful eye out for strangers.

  After following a small path long the cliff, Rosalind drew in the reins where the descent to the beach wasn’t so steep. Guiding Devon down a barely discernable path that led to the water, Rosalind allowed the chestnut to pick his own way, with hooves crunching on small pebbles. Behind her, she heard Thomas’s sorrel following.

  They rode along the beach for a quarter of a mile until they saw the Arrow with several men standing about at the edge of the surf. Rosalind pulled Devon into a small out crop of brushes and rocks at the base of the cliff.

  “Just tie Devon up in these trees tomorrow night, Thomas. No need for you to lose any sleep.”

  “I hope I knows my job, Miss,” Thomas grumbled, but not unkindly. “Me and Devon’ll be here waiting for you like always.” Though they had the same conversation numerous times, Rosalind always left feeling guilty keeping the old man from his bed. But she also knew he’d have it no other way. “And you be careful, Miss,” he added. “If not them revenuers, no tellin’ what rapscallion might be out with a moon like this.”

  Giving him a bright smile, she handed him the reins, then turned and walked toward the small sea craft, feeling Thomas’s gaze at her back. She knew he wouldn’t leave until Tolly was at her side.

  Moments later, the huge man separated himself from the others and was at her elbow. Without a word, he picked her up and tossed her into the lugger, a wide-beamed boat with two sails. As she nimbly stepped around the lines and sails to take a seat close to the bow, she saw that the Earl was not yet aboard and waited patiently for Tolly to give the signal to the other four men to push the craft into the water.

  Several minutes passed, and Rosalind wondered at the delay until she was a tall figure strolling down the beach. Despite the woolen cap and workman clothes he wore, she recognized the broad shouldered gentleman as the one she’d encountered in the woods collecting herbs.

  “You’re late.” Tolly’s tone was gruff. Rosalind knew he tolerated no nonsense. Obviously, as a new crew member his lordship would learn the hard way.

  “Blasted females,” Melvyrn said in a half whisper. “Lady Chadlington and her simpering daughter happened by so one of their horses could throw a shoe at my front gate.”

  No more was said, but Rosalind could tell by his movements that Melvyrn was still angry over whatever theatrics Sylvia had pulled. She couldn’t help smiling to herself, for she was glad the Earl thought Sylvia foolish.

  Tolly introduced the Earl to the other crew members as Phillips. When he pointed to her, she lifted her chin as Tolly said, “There’s Ros. He’s young and green, so stay away from him.” He didn’t wait for Melvyrn to reply but instead gestured for him to take a seat in the middle of the boat.

  They shoved off and soon raised the two sails, which bellowed with the brisk northwest, sending the lugger clipping over the waves. As the crisp wind swirled around her, Rosalind shivered and tucked a stray curl under the black knit cap before pulling it lower. After a while, mist rose up from the channel’s surface, dulling the moon’s brightness. The cloudless sky, however, provided enough light for visibility. The crossing was uneventful, and shortly before sun up they were in sight of the dark French coastline. Tolly guided the craft to the mouth of a small river and pulled it close to the shore where the trees hung over, giving them some cover. After giving the command for everyone to get some sleep, Tolly stepped over legs and lines to stretch out beside Rosalind.

  For several hours, they rested. At one point the Earl rose and walked back to the bow. Still seated next to her, Tolly came to his feet and met Melvyrn midway and then gestured the two of them go ashore to talk. Though they had moved away from the boat and talked softly, Rosalind could still see and hear the two men.

  Melvyrn asked, “What town are
we near?”

  “Wissant,” Tolly answered.

  “How big is it?”

  “Small, a fishing village.”

  “I’d like to scout about, learn the area some?”

  Tolly shook his head and pointed to the boat. “No, you’d best stay here ‘til it’s time to load up.”

  “What about the lad?”

  “What about him?” Tolly almost growled.

  “He doesn’t look strong enough to tote keys?”

  Tolly was quiet for a moment. “He’s a job to do when we meet up with the Frenchman.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The lad speaks French,” Tolly said, turning his back on the Earl.

  They returned to the boat. Tolly again used gestures for Melvyrn to remain at the stern of the boat and sat next to him. Late afternoon they ate bread and cheese from a satchel that had been stowed in the stern.

  Just before dusk, they shoved away from the shore and headed back out into the sea. With the wind up, the sail filled out, and the boat skimmed across the waves. When the moon was high in a nearly clear sky, Tolly called out to one of the men to give the signal.

  Lighting a covered lantern, the man stood in the bow and opened and closed a shutter three times. It wasn’t long before they sighted an answering signal.

  They made for a small, rocky cove, where the old Frenchman was waiting on the beach with two ragged looking figures behind him. The crew including Melvyrn hopped into the surf and dragged the Arrow up to the beach. Rosalind cautiously made her way to the back of the boat where Tolly reached up and, circling her waist with his large hands, lifted her over the side of the boat, and set her down on the rocky sand.

  Glancing up the rising dune, she saw the village men hurrying down and forming a line to begin the relay. Aware of Tolly following behind her, Rosalind started up the beach to meet Jacques and quickly introduced Tolly to the soldiers. He pointed at the lugger and told the men, “Get aboard, and sit low so you ain’t seen.”

  “When do you come next?” Jacques asked.

  “In three days,” Rosalind said, looking at Tolly.

  He shook his bushy head. “Too risky crossing so soon. Besides, word is they’re sending another cutter, the Valiant, to Dover along with more excise men.”

  “Oui, but these two,” Jacques said pointing to the two soldiers in the boat, “they say there’re others hiding close by. My house will be full, and the number of French soldiers in the area is rising.”

  “Jacques is right, Tolly,” Rosalind said as she laid a hand on the huge fisherman’s arm when he made to object. “It is not safe for him, either.”

  “Aye, I can see that,” Tolly said, glancing back at the lugger.

  ~~~~~

  The three on the beach spoke in near whispers, making it difficult for Melvyrn to hear what they were saying. He’d planned to meet the Frenchman and take part in their discussion. Instead, he found himself being pushed and shoved around by the other crew members until he was maneuvered out of the boat onto the small rocky beach. Then from behind the wind blown trees came a dozen men who quickly formed a relay line. The men worked fast and efficiently, loading the contraband brandy kegs and several bolts of silk and crepe, all protectively wrapped tightly in oil skin.

  When Melvyrn saw the lad hug the old man goodbye, he broke from the relay line and strode toward Tolly, who was leading the boy back to the boat. “I want to speak to the Frenchman,” he said.

  Tolly looked toward the lugger where the last keg was being loaded. As quickly as it formed, the relay line broke up and the men disappeared over the dune. “This is not a good time,” he said. “Too many French soldiers are about.”

  “What about the lad?” Melvyrn asked. “He obviously acts as an interpreter, and a bond seem to exist between him and the old man.” He wondered if they were perhaps related somehow. “Perhaps he can help me?”

  “No.” Tolly growled with decisiveness. “Keep the lad out of it.” Then the huge fisherman elbowed his way around Melvyrn and, picking the lad up in his arms, tossed him into the boat.

  Melvyrn watched as the lad quickly scrambled to his seat beside the two soldiers in the bow. Next, Tolly gave the order, and Melvyrn, the other four hands, and Tolly shoved the boat into the surf and climbed aboard. Looking up at the rising moon, he felt frustrated by the day’s events and Tolly’s possessive attitude toward the lad. As he watched the crew raise the sails preparing the Arrow to cross the Channel, he resolved to speak to the lad when they reached Folkestone.

  ~~~~~

  An hour before dawn the Arrow was beached on English soil again. Melvyrn recognized several of the men from the village waiting for them with two pack horses and a dray wagon. One man resembled Bart Brothers, the innkeeper of the Eight Bells, but with the early morning gloom and the concealing cap and coat, it was hard to be sure.

  Tolly quickly organized the men to transfer the contraband to the pack horses and wagon. Melvyrn stayed close to the lugger and, as Tolly lifted the lad out of it, saw the lad lead the two soldiers up the bank to wait for the men to finish. The lad kept his cap pulled low, making it difficult to see his features. Still, there was something about the boy that seemed familiar.

  Melvyrn pulled away from the relay line and walked toward the three quiet figures sitting on the rocks. Hoping to put the lad at ease, he pulled on his cap in a diffident gesture. “This is a well organized operation. The old man, he’s a relative of yours?”

  Before the lad could answer, Tolly’s huge frame came between them with a crew member behind him. Instead of answering Melvyrn, the lad said, “I will take the soldiers to Doc Pritchett.”

  “Can’t,” Tolly said. “He’s gone to Dover. Won’t be back ‘til late tomorrow.”

  “Then I will take them to . . .” The lad looked at Melvyrn, then said, “I will see to them.”

  “Cleggs, here, can tend to them,” Tolly said. “Go home, lad,” Tolly ordered gruffly, taking the boy’s arm. “If you ain’t home soon, your family’ll be after my hide.” Then without a word to Melvyrn, he hustled the lad away.

  Anger and frustration warred within Melvyrn. He swore under his breath as he watched Tolly and the boy, nearly running to keep up with the giant, disappear in the morning mist. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Cleggs and the two soldiers where already up the cliff. Thinking to quiz the other crew members, Melvyrn turned around and discovered he was alone on a deserted beach.

  An eerie sensation came over him. Even though he’d spent two nights and a day engaged in treasonous activity with a gang of infamous Gentlemen, he knew no more now than when he first came to Folkestone.

  *** Chapter 5 ***

  The next morning, Rosalind entered the kitchen and greeted Mrs. Boroughs. “How did the two soldiers fare last night?” she asked after accepting a scone and a cup of tea from Cook.

  “Very well,” Mrs. Boroughs replied. “In fact, other than a few minor scraps and bruises, they are fine. I’ve sent a message to Cleggs to come by later this morning. He can see them on their way to London.”

  The first time Doc Pritchett had been unavailable, Rosalind had approached Mrs. Boroughs to help nurse the wounded soldiers. The older woman had been reluctant, concerned for Rosalind’s reputation. As an unmarried woman, Rosalind would be ruined if it were known that she’d tended to sick men. However, Mrs. Boroughs agreed to help after being assured that the Hall’s staff would help and eliciting Rosalind’s promise to stay away from the recovering soldiers.

  “I see you are dressed for church?” Mrs. Boroughs said. “You should consider resting this morning, Rosalind?”

  It had been late by the time Rosalind had laid her head upon her pillow. But she understood that appearances were important and tried not to give the villagers fodder for gossip.

  “I slept well,” Rosalind answered, looking at her chaperone’s weary countenance. While she’d been sent to bed, Mrs. Borough had tended to the needs of the soldiers. “Do you plan attending the ser
vice?”

  Mrs. Boroughs shook her head. “No, I will wait for Cleggs and see the young men off.”

  Later that morning, Rosalind sat looking about Saint Eanswythe Chapel. Named for an Anglo-Saxon princess, the church’s thick gray stone walls, with large arched windows of leaded glass, provided almost no warmth even in the summer, and she drew her cloak more tightly around her. Still, the old church offered her a sense of belonging as memories of sitting in the same pew in years passed with her mother and father, and her brother, Edward, next to her, pinching her to stay awake. Her reminiscing abruptly ceased, however.

  She knew the moment the Earl of Melvyrn entered the stone chapel. Besides the authoritative click of his boots on the stone floor, a buzz of chatter arose, pew by pew, following his progress down the center aisle. Sure enough, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the tall figure of the Earl enter the pew across from her. Except for a few members of the house staff from Cliffe Manor, no Melvyrn had occupied that pew in years. Rosalind steadfastly refused to glance over at him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d conquered her interest. Besides, she could hear Sylvia Chadlington, who sat behind her, urging her mother to invite the Earl to tea. Undoubtedly, he heard her too.

  The service started, and the organ drowned out everything else. The vicar’s sermon was no longer or more monotonous than any other Sunday, but for some reason, Rosalind found the hell and brimstone treatise interminable. She knew the old vicar cared about his parish and was concerned that most of its members engaged in smuggling in one form or another. The only thing that kept her from falling asleep was her awareness of Melvyrn in the other pew. She sensed his eyes on her more than once and forced herself to keep her own on the pulpit.

  When the congregation finally rose for the benediction hymn, Rosalind let her gaze roam about the church, seeking a means of escape. She didn’t want to get caught by one of her well-meaning neighbors, who usually took this opportunity to chat with her. Any delay in the church yard would surely lead to an introduction with the Earl, and that she wished to avoid at all cost. Tolly had impressed upon her the need to stay away from Melvyrn for fear that he’d recognize her as the lad Ros.