We trotted up the road for maybe a mile until she turned in through a pair of tall gates. “This is my home. We’ll be safe enough here.”
“Does Snelling know where to find you?”
“I don’t think so. But in any case, it’s one thing to take a few shots at anonymous figures in the dark. It’s another thing altogether to make trouble for the respectable widow of a local magistrate.”
She sounded utterly sure of herself, but I had my doubts. There were several hours of darkness before the dawn.
31
Siege
LADY HENRIETTA’S HOUSE was more than respectable. Her late husband must have been a rich man, and since she was not now in a dower house, it seemed likely she had no sons and so was in charge of her own fortune, an enviable position for a woman to be in. She lived in a red-brick manor house, recently built in the classical style. Lanterns burned at the front door, which opened as we all ran up the steps, filing through into the tiled hallway.
A tall, middle-aged butler met us with a lamp and his “M’lady!” was more an expression of surprise as we all trooped past him. Lady Henrietta, her servant, Hookey, me, Corwen, Windward, and the Greek. It wasn’t until he moved that I realized he had a crutch tucked into the armpit of his free arm.
“Janie?” the butler asked.
The person I’d taken for a manservant as we’d raced across the levels dragged off his cloak, and it was suddenly obvious in the lamplight that he was a she. “I’m all right, Bartle,” she said. “We ran into some trouble, but no one was hurt.”
“Only an unfortunate ewe,” Windward said. “I left her at the foot o’ the steps, but I can draw the carcass if you want me to.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lady Henrietta said. “Young Cherry can deal with her, Mr. . . . ”
“Windward, ma’am. Just Windward. And this here’s the Greek. He don’t say much on account of bein’—well—Greek, but he understands all right.”
“I’m pleased to meet you both, and I thank you for your company tonight. Gentlemen, as you can see, Bartle is temporarily incapacitated . . . ”
I looked across at Windward and mouthed, “Lame.” He nodded.
“So,” she continued, “if you would be so good as to help him in the kitchen, we can all get some food and a warm drink inside us.”
“Yus, ma’am, be right glad to,” Windward said.
“It’s a big enough kitchen table, we’ll all come and join you in a few moments. Jane?”
“I’ll go and supervise. Yon two big fellows don’t look like they’re much used to kitchen work.”
“If you’re not too tired.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Bartle lit a candelabrum and left it on the hall table. Holding his lamp high, he led the foraging party through a door under the stairs.
“Is everyone truly all right?” Lady Henrietta asked. “Please, pile your coats on that chair and come into the breakfast room. There’s a good fire burning in the grate, though the room’s small. We weren’t expecting company.”
The breakfast room was, indeed, small, but it was obviously used as a parlor as well, so there were two armchairs and several straight-backed dining chairs which we pulled up to the fire.
Lady Henrietta grinned at us. “Hookey’s told me about you both. I didn’t expect to meet you on a night such as this.”
“I confess, Lady Henrietta—” I said.
“Oh, please, call me Etta.”
“Thank you, and you must call me Ross. It was only because of my curiosity that we came ashore in the boat. Hookey doesn’t give his admiration easily.” I glanced at Hookey who I swear had gone pink, though it could have been the warmth from the roaring fire on his cold cheeks. “I wanted to meet you, though not necessarily under the present circumstances. You’ve used my trick, wearing breeches. Running across the marsh in a dress isn’t to be recommended.”
“It certainly isn’t. I wish I could get away with breeches in daylight, but I’m a little too well known around here, and not quite the right shape to disguise myself as a man.” She looked down at her ample bosom.
Hookey’s face went from strawberry to beetroot.
“I’m not sure how I got away with it for so long,” I said, knowing my days of dressing in breeches would soon be curtailed by my belly.
“May I offer you all something to drink. We’re not short of a bottle or two of spirits.”
Hookey looked as if he was about to say yes, but I got up from my chair and peeked between a crack in the drawn shutters. “You have more faith than I have that your position in society will keep you safe,” I said. “I’ll stand watch while everyone gets some food.”
“I’ll stand with you,” Corwen said.
I nodded. “Then Windward and the Greek can take over.”
Etta looked about to protest the necessity, but Hookey touched the back of her hand. “Ross has the right of it. We’ll split the night into three watches, I’d be obliged if you’d ask Bartle to stand with me.”
“He’s barely able to hobble, yet. It was a clean break, but these things take time. I’ll stand with you, Hookey. I defer to your sense of danger.”
While the others went to the kitchen, Corwen and I took the first watch from the rooms upstairs, the front room a grand parlor and the back a bedroom. With no light behind us, we could see garden-shapes outlined in the silvery half-moonlight. I still had my enhanced glass, so I was able to see partway down the road though some angles were shrouded by trees.
While I had a quiet time, I summoned the Heart. When my ship turned against the tide, Mr. Rafiq knew that I’d called her. It would tell him that we’d escaped the immediate danger, so he’d bring her into the small harbor at first light.
Hookey joined us barely ten minutes later with a plate of cold meats and a bottle of Burgundy.
“I didn’t like to think of you missing out,” he said.
“Thanks, Hookey. Have you taken some to Corwen in the back room?”
“I have, but he’s getting ready to scout outside. I’ll take his watch.”
A low yip announced Corwen’s presence in wolf form. I ran down the stairs with him and let him out of the front door. “Take care out there,” I said, as he bolted out into the night.
“Has someone gone out?” Etta asked as she emerged from the kitchen stair.
“Corwen’s gone to see what he can sniff out,” I said, not indicating I meant it literally.
Windward and the Greek weren’t far behind Etta. Like me, they were wary. “That Joss-man didn’t look like one to let anything go,” Windward said. “If I were him, I’d be heading here with my gang and loaded pistols. That’s the only way to make someone realize you mean business.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” I said.
“They wouldn’t dare.” Etta sounded indignant.
“I’m afraid they would, my dear,” Hookey said. “I’ve dealt with their like before. Hells bells, I’ve been their type. If I were them, I’d be making an example of you this night so that no one else would dare stand against me.”
Etta’s face paled in the lamplight. “What shall we do?”
“Prepare to repel boarders, I reckon,” Hookey said. “What say you, lass?” he turned to me.
“I think you’re right. What armaments do we have? I’ve got two small pistols, a powder flask, and a dozen spare bullets.”
“Three pistols and a cutlass,” Hookey said. “And spare ammunition.”
“Two pistols and a cutlass,” Windward said. “Same for the Greek. Both with spare powder and balls.”
“What about your own household?” I asked Etta.
“Two fowling pieces, a musket, and my late husband’s pistols. There’s a pair of swords mounted on the wall over the mantel in Gerald’s study.”
“That will do for starters,” I s
aid. “How many servants do you have?”
“Useful ones? Lucy the cook, Jane and Bartle in the house. Cherry and little Jeremiah have their wits about them, but they sleep in the loft above the stable. The rest are girls who likely don’t know one end of a pistol from the other, though now I come to think of it, Julia was an army brat, so she might stand with us.”
“I’ll go wake them,” Jane said. “Bartle’s keeping a watch on the back door. He’s got a loaded musket by his side.”
“Tell him not to take a potshot if he sees a wolf,” I told her. “He’s on our side.”
Etta raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
I kept a watch out of the front room window with my spyglass, and Hookey kept a watch out of the back with his. I wasn’t sure how we’d explain the magical light lodged in them. Etta hadn’t asked, but she’d definitely noticed.
“I see the wolf,” Hookey roared from the back room. “He’s coming at a run. Janie, the door.”
Downstairs in the hallway, we heard the bolts clang back; Janie squeaked as a large silver wolf streaked by her, up the steps, and into the back room. Corwen emerged less than a minute later, his shirt loose over his breeches.
“There are nine of them, mounted and armed,” he said. “Not sure about the other three. Could they have followed your owlers?”
“They might try, but they’ll never manage it across the marsh. Everyone has a different destination. The ponies are borrowed from local farms and will be back in their stables before morning.”
“In that case there might be another three coming back to join the main gang, but in the meantime, we have nine to deal with.”
“The boys in the stable,” Etta said. “We need to warn them.”
“I’ll go,” Janie said from halfway up the stair.
“Can you fire a pistol?” Corwen asked her.
“If I have to.”
“Good, here’s mine. I’ll warn your stable lads.” He ran down to the kitchen where Bartle was still holding the door. I heard muffled voices and then the scrape of two bolts, the click of the back door, and the firm snick of the bolts sliding back into place.
A short while later I heard a single pony galloping away; the kitchen door opened and closed again. A young man ran up the steps, still tucking his shirt into his breeches. Cherry, I guessed.
“Where’s Corwen?” I asked.
“The gentleman sent Jerry off to Rye to call out the militia, ma’am. Said to tell you he’s gone to sniff around. Said you’d know what he meant.”
I did, indeed, Corwen’s wolf was on the loose.
* * *
I saw them through the spyglass before they expected to be seen, but I could only count five of them, so I called out to let the others know to watch the back and the sides of the house. Etta sent Cherry down to the kitchen to reinforce Bartle at the door. There was access to the cellars from another door, but it was stout oak and firmly locked and bolted.
The front door was bolted and barred, though the French windows from the dining room to the garden were only shuttered and not sturdy enough to withstand a determined assault. I took Windward and the Greek and stationed myself in the hallway where I could get fast access to all the downstairs rooms. Hookey gave Janie and Etta the enchanted spyglasses and left them watching from the upstairs rooms, each with a loaded pistol. He stationed himself between them on the upper landing, pistols at the ready.
“Here they come,” Hookey yelled. A pistol discharged in a room above my head, and then a second. “Got the bastard.”
I heard horses squealing outside and men’s voices shouting. Then one man gave a bloodcurdling scream. That would be Corwen causing havoc.
Someone rattled the French windows.
“Right, get ready,” I said softly to Windward and the Greek as I unlatched the shutters from the inside. When the French windows flew open, the three men there took five bullets between them from our volley. Two sprawled dead or unconscious amidst broken glass, and one cursed violently as he stumbled away. We slung the bodies outside, slammed the shutters back in place, bolted them, and reloaded while we had the opportunity.
Two pistol shots from belowstairs, a crash of splintered wood, and the clang of steel on steel told us that the gang had broken through in the kitchen. Hookey ran down the stairs, leaped over the banister, and charged through the door, closely followed by the Greek.
“Stay here,” I told Windward. “It could be a diversion.”
And, indeed, it was. The shutters in the dining room trembled under colossal blows and caved inward. We each fired a pistol, and then a second one. I had one of Etta’s husband’s swords from the study. It was longer than the one I favored, and not balanced for my hand, but it was three and a half feet of steel and I knew where to shove it. I skewered one smuggler in the belly, though in the age it took me to free my blade from sucking flesh, another had come at me from my right. Windward slashed at his head, and a silver-gray shape launched itself under Windward’s flailing cutlass and went straight for the smuggler’s ballocks with his teeth. The scream told me he’d found his target.
By the time the militia arrived, it was all over. Of the ten men who’d attacked the house, four lay dead from pistol wounds, including Joss Snelling. His son George was badly wounded, his arm almost torn off, which Etta quickly blamed on one of her hunting dogs who seemed to have run off into the night. I reckoned the young man would be lucky to survive a wound like that if infection set in. Maybe a swift amputation might save his life, but the militia captain seemed reluctant to call out the local surgeon. George Snelling was a dead man walking.
The hunting dog was blamed for the wounds to the unfortunate man who’d had his tender parts mauled.
Two men had run off into the night on foot, including the one I’d skewered in the gut and the militia captain sent men to track them down by the trail of blood.
We let Etta account for the attack to the militia. No, she didn’t know why they’d attacked, but it was lucky she had visitors in the house as a poor widow living alone but for a handful of servants would stand no chance against such vicious criminals.
Delighted to catch the Snelling gang, the militia didn’t ask too many questions. They sent for a cart and hauled away the dead and wounded. Anyone who survived would be likely to meet his end on a rope.
Hookey was the hero of the hour as far as Etta was concerned, which was fine by us.
Corwen and I took our leave early the following morning after a few hours of sleep, having sent Windward and the Greek to Rye Harbor to meet the Heart of Oak as she docked to take on provisions. Hookey would follow later, but I didn’t begrudge him some time with his ladylove. It was obvious his feelings were returned.
“However it turns out,” I said to Corwen, “Hookey deserves a woman like Etta.”
“I always thought he had his eye on you.”
“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. Hookey’s my friend. There’s never been anything between us.”
“You love each other.”
“Well, yes, but not that kind of love. He’s family.”
Corwen smirked.
* * *
As it turned out, we couldn’t provision completely in Rye Harbor. It was more acquainted with supplies for fishing boats and coastal shipping, so our list of requirements came up sadly lacking.
Mr. Rafiq handed me a list.
600 lbs ship’s biscuit
240 lbs salt beef or mutton
120 lbs of salt pork
30 lbs salt cod
90 lbs rice
2 bushels peas
30 lbs butter
60 lbs hard cheese
300 gallons beer
300 gallons fresh water.
We conferred, and on Etta’s advice, Mr. Rafiq sent to Rye itself, which gave Hookey an extra day with Etta and me a pressing need to
complete the Atlantic crossing in record time.
At length we had everything we needed except a captain, so I sent Windward to fetch Hookey. Etta came down to the harbor with him, driving them both in a small, two-wheeled cart behind a contented gray pony. Jeremiah, the stable boy who’d ridden for help, balanced on the back of the pony trap and ran to hold the pony’s head when Etta pulled up opposite the Heart of Oak.
“I’m glad we’ve had the opportunity to meet again.” Etta clasped my hand warmly. “I wanted to thank all of you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, squeezing her hand back.
“I’ve had a long talk with Hookey, and your secrets are safe with me.”
“Secrets?” I tried to sound nonchalant.
“Sudden sandstorms. Spyglasses that see like daylight in the darkness, and a wolf who is never around when Mr. Deverell is present.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, but it sounds a little weird. I would be extremely grateful if unfounded rumors might be nipped in the bud.”
She smiled. “Consider them nipped quite thoroughly.”
“Thank you.”
“I like your Etta,” I said to Hookey as he stood at the helm with Rye Harbor falling behind us fast.
“Is she my Etta?”
“I think she could be if you played your cards right.”
He made a sound that might have been taken for contentment.
Once in the Channel, I changed into my breeches and settled down on deck to blow a steady breeze into the Heart’s sails, enough to achieve eighteen knots. It was almost like flying. I could keep it up for about four hours before I needed a break. All the time I had to be careful not to pitchpole her, that is to drive her under, nose first, which was what might happen if I only concentrated on the wind and ignored the action of water on the hull. It was a delicate balance, and I achieved it with the help of Hookey and Corwen. Hookey handled the Heart. Corwen reminded me to take frequent breaks, and for the eight hours a night that I slept like one dead, he held me close.
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