by Regina Scott
The officer went to take a seat in front of the desk as if making himself at home. “Pity. But perhaps I might be of service to you.”
James crossed to the desk. “How?”
Stiverson leaned back. “By passing along a warning. His Majesty’s Army isn’t the only one looking to recruit. There’s word of a press gang making its way along the coast. You might tell your young men they’ll get a fairer deal from me.”
A press gang. He’d heard of the bullies forcing men to serve in the navy in bigger towns with wide harbors. Portsmouth. Poole. Weymouth. But here, in Grace-by-the-Sea?
“I’ll alert the village,” he told the recruiter. “But I can’t promise anyone will volunteer to take the king’s shilling.”
“If they volunteer, there’s a reward for you,” Stiverson reminded him. “If we don’t get them to volunteer, we’ll have to forcibly conscript them. You know the law. If enough men between the ages of seventeen and thirty, without young children, volunteer, you spare yourself the ballot.”
“And if they don’t, you can use that ballot to draft any man from seventeen to fifty-five into the regular army to fight the king’s wars,” James finished. “Our farmers and tradesmen would die in the first battle.”
Stiverson spread his hands. “There’s an easy solution. Raise a volunteer corps here in Grace-by-the-Sea.”
There it was. He was a Howland, a leader born and bred. Of course he must champion his people. Indeed, as the highest-ranking permanent resident in the area, he was the only one who could. A shame his family had ordered it otherwise.
Your work on my behalf is entirely too necessary, the earl had written. It would be inconvenient for you to be out leading wastrels who had nothing better to do anyway. Never fret. I will make the arrangements with the government. You will not be troubled further.
He did not doubt the Earl of Howland could arrange anything he liked, regardless of what James liked. He had a hostage, after all. James’ mother resided with the earl, companion to the countess. People spoke of the earl’s benevolence, his kindness to support a poor widow. None of them knew that she was surety against any rebellion. If James did not comply with every request, each edict, the earl’s favor would be withdrawn, their lives made miserable. The Earl of Howland had made that patently clear.
James met the officer’s gaze. “I regret, Major, that leading a volunteer corps isn’t an option.”
“Then you leave me no choice.” Stiverson reached inside his coat and drew out a piece of parchment, offering it to James. “This is an order from the Home Secretary. You’re to compile a list of all able-bodied men between the ages of seventeen and fifty-five.”
James took the paper and tossed it onto his desk. “When I have the time.”
Stiverson shook his head as he rose. “Do yourself a favor. Complete the list yourself. If I compile it, I may end up listing those you’d prefer to leave off.”
James eyed him. “I am a magistrate and a Howland, Major Stiverson. Neither disposes me to take threats well.”
The recruiter bowed. “Meaning no disrespect, sir. I’ll be back this way in a sennight.” He turned and left.
James squeezed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, where a headache was building. Castle How wasn’t the only thing under attack, it seemed. How could he protect his neighbors, his friends? He could not look Mr. Carroll in the face, knowing he’d put the man’s name on the list. The savvy shopkeeper would never have lifted a gun to kill, even if his life depended on it. And Alexander Chance, just barely a man? And Quillan St. Claire…
He dropped his hand. His old friend would have to wait. First he must discover who was using the castle and why, and all while keeping Larkin Denby away from the truth. Only then could he determine how to keep the villagers of Grace-by-the-Sea from going to war.
~~~
The spa was quieter that day. A shame, for Lark could not quiet his thoughts. Most of its denizens were recovering from the exertions of the night before. Mrs. Cole and her daughter talked in hushed tones. Lord Featherstone avoided the chessboard as if fearing he’d disgrace himself. Only Mr. Crabapple and Mrs. Harding remained oblivious to the tension, sitting in each other’s pocket at one of the tables and murmuring low.
The peace roared at Lark like waves pounding the sand. So close, so close! His conversation with Jess had only made him more eager to search the castle.
And find the caves.
She was busy at the welcome desk. Two more guests had arrived. Another mother and daughter, it appeared, by the similarities in the women’s patrician faces and crimped brown hair. This time, the daughter was older than Lark, the mother beyond Mrs. Tully’s years and leaning heavily on her daughter’s arm. Jess straightened as he approached.
“Mrs. Barlow, Miss Barlow, you must meet Mr. Denby, another recent visitor to our fair shores.”
Lark inclined his head. The mother managed a smile, but even that little effort seemed to pain her. The daughter spoke for them both.
“Mr. Denby. How refreshing to find a gentleman. By the article in the Upper Grace newspaper this morning, we assumed all men had enlisted in the militia and were off training.”
“We must be prepared for invasion,” her mother added. “I told Susan that when she insisted on coming. Too close to the Channel.”
Her daughter patted her arm. “But the physician said you would benefit from the waters, Mother. And it is so nice to be out in company again.”
“Napoleon will never land near Grace-by-the-Sea,” Jess put in brightly. “Not while men of Mr. Denby’s character protect us.”
He refused to preen at her praise. Besides, he wasn’t being much of a deterrent to Napoleon’s plans when he could not find one dangerous smuggler. “And where might these lovely ladies reside?” he asked.
Surrey, as it turned out. He made polite conversation, feeling as if he could hear the great bronze clock across the room, ticking away the moments. Finally, Miss Barlow led her mother off, leaving Jess alone. Lark watched as she began rearranging the pamphlets on the desk.
“Can you be certain there are no smugglers in Grace-by-the-Sea?” he asked.
Her head snapped up. “Why are you so insistent, sir?”
Lark held up his hand. “Forgive me. I have no wish to quarrel with you, Jesslyn.”
She hissed. “I did not give you leave to use my first name.”
She had, once. That time was clearly over. He bowed. “Forgive me. I can see that Grace-by-the-Sea remains a bucolic, peaceful place. But someone is using it, most cruelly if I am correct. I only seek to right that wrong.”
“There is no wrong!” She threw up her hands, and the pamphlets fluttered in protest. “There are no conspiracies here, no danger. I wish you would simply accept that.”
The spa door banged open, and Miss Archer hurried in. Her fashionable feathered bonnet was askew, reddish curls peeking out as if attempting to escape. She clutched the welcome desk with her gloved fingers, green skirts settling about her trembling frame.
“Jesslyn,” she breathed as if Lark wasn’t there. “I just heard, and I had to come warn you. They are plotting against you!”
Chapter Nine
What! Jess could not seem to grasp her friend’s words, but she knew where her duty lay: defending the spa. She reached out to take her friend’s hand. “Slow down, Abby. Mr. Denby will think something terrible has happened.”
It was a warning as much as comfort. Lark already saw smugglers around every corner. Jess hardly wanted to fuel that obsession. And surely no one in the village would attempt to do her any lasting harm, Mrs. Greer’s interference aside.
Abby blinked her green eyes, glanced at Lark as if noting his presence for the first time, and then turned resolutely to Jess.
“But something terrible has happened. I knew it the moment I ventured into the emergency council meeting and you were not there.”
Jess withdrew her hand. “An emergency meeting? I was given no word.”
Her
aunt must have noticed their conversation, for she hurried over to join them. “What meeting?” she asked, glancing among them.
“The council met early this morning,” Abigail explained. “I thought at first Jesslyn must be unable to tear herself away from the spa, but I was soon disabused of that notion. They scheduled the meeting so that they could discuss the spa without you. Jess, I fear they mean to replace the two of you.”
Maudie gasped, clutching her chest. The floor tilted like a ship on the wave beneath Jess, and she lay her hand on the Welcome Book to steady herself. As if he’d seen the change in her, Lark stepped protectively closer.
“I was not informed that my performance was lacking,” she told her friend. At least, they hadn’t said so in so many words. Mrs. Greer was never pleasant, with anyone.
“It isn’t you,” Abigail said. “They want a new physician to take charge, a man.” She spat out the last word and looked to Lark, as if it were somehow his fault.
“A man,” Maudie echoed, eyes narrowing. “Well, I suppose it’s better than being replaced by a mermaid.”
Jess drew in a breath. “We have needed a physician for some time. But any worth his salt will want to spend his time examining patients, prescribing cures. He won’t want to attend to the little details of running the spa.”
Maudie nodded sagely, hand dropping.
“But you can be sure he’ll tell you how to do it,” Abigail insisted.
Jess’s father had accepted her suggestions about the running of the spa, but she understood why her friend was wary. Abby’s father had been a domineering sort. A retired military man, he’d brought his family to live at Grace-by-the-Sea for the quiet. Until the day he’d died three years ago, he’d never understood his daughter’s love of painting or her ambition to pursue it as a profession. Her mother was a cowed little woman who tended to jump at the least noise. Because of Abby’s talent and tenacity in pursuing her dream, she could support her mother now.
“It might not be so bad,” Jess temporized. “I’m certain we could work something out.”
Abigail shook her head, ginger hair catching the light. “I urged them to consult you on the matter, but they refused to consider it. They fear you will be prejudiced, because of your father. You will want a man like him, or none at all.”
She might indeed. Her father had set a noble standard for what to expect from a physician. He had been calm, considerate, compassionate. He’d listened to any complaint, from the spurious to the serious. He’d prescribed remedies where he could, dealt out kindness where he couldn’t. She’d never understand how he could have succumbed from a bout of pneumonia one of his patients had brought to his door. He’d seemed so healthy, so vibrant.
So needed.
“There is no man like my brother,” Maudie said, nose in the air. “We won’t stand for his memory to be tarnished by a Newcomer. We’ll stage a revolution. Down with tyrants!” She thrust her fist into the air.
Jess caught it and tugged her arm down. “Hush, Aunt. This isn’t France. And we have no right to dictate the running of the spa.”
“I disagree.” It was the first Lark had spoken in the conversation, and his tone was firm. “You know more about the running of this spa than anyone. Failing to consult you about a change is a grave oversight. I will tell Mr. Greer so myself.”
Hope surged up, then promptly fell. The Greers would never listen to the word of a guest, not unless he came with a title and funds to support it.
“Thank you,” she told him. “I will speak to Mr. Greer and the other members of the Corporation myself.” She looked to her friend. “I appreciate you coming to tell me, Abby. At least I am warned.”
“Forewarned is forearmed,” she agreed. “Just know there are many behind you. This village was built by a Chance; this spa exists because of a Chance. It makes no sense to drive out the last of the Chances.”
The last of the Chances. A shiver went through her. God willing, there would be many more Chances at Grace-by-the-Sea, for generations to come, if she could convince her brother of the folly of his ways before something terrible truly did happen.
~~~
Were they all blind? Lark shifted on his feet, fighting the urge to march down to the apothecary shop and tell Greer he was a fool. He had dealt with a few physicians in his life. After his father’s death, his mother had had heart palpitations that did not ease as time went by, even with the move to Upper Grace and her brother’s household. Learned men of medicine in Kent and Dorset had examined her, prescribed remedies that either left her sleeping much of the day or walking about in a daze. He’d been a youth, then, someone none of the physicians had deemed savvy enough to comment on much less complain about the treatment she was receiving.
Jess’s father had been the one light of hope. He’d talked with Lark’s mother, advised a change in diet and walks on the Downs after they’d left the spa. The time away, in such a caring atmosphere, had done wonders. Could there be another physician so kind, so reasonable?
Certainly not one who could devote himself the way Jess did to making every guest happy. What better welcoming presence than a pretty, sweet, intelligent young woman? He’d seen Jess put each guest at ease, from military men with bristling mustaches to girls on their first Season. A physician, no matter how well schooled, would be hard-pressed to fill the role.
“I should return to the gallery,” Miss Archer was saying now. “Just know you have my friendship and admiration, as always.” She gave Jess’s arm a squeeze before she hurried toward the door.
Mrs. Tully hitched up her black gown by the shoulders. “So, it’s war.”
Jess shook herself. “It is not war, Aunt. I will speak to Mr. Greer at the first opportunity. For now, we have duties to perform. We will continue to perform them to the best of our ability until we are told otherwise.”
“Bah!” Her aunt stalked off toward the fountain.
Lark refused to move from Jess’s side.
“The shopkeepers and the tradesmen aren’t the only ones behind you,” he told her. “I’m sure I speak for all your guests when I say it is impossible to think of this spa without you in it.”
The smallest of smiles brightened her lips. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should see to my responsibilities.”
He wanted that smile to grow. “Always water to be poured,” he teased.
It inched wider. “Water to be poured, guests to entertain, receipts to be cataloged, arrangements made.”
He leaned closer. “And what weighty arrangements are you managing now?”
Her brow wiggled as she dropped her voice conspiratorially. “The Midsummer Masquerade.”
“Ah, a masquerade. And how will you dress?”
She tapped his fingers. “Fah, sir, I cannot tell you that. It must remain a mystery. The gentlemen and ladies must guess each other’s identity. It’s part of the fun.”
Somehow, he thought he’d recognize her whatever she wore. Her smile, those sparkling eyes would be difficult to hide. And he would have given a great deal to hear her laugh, to take her hands and whirl her in the dance.
But midsummer’s night was more than three weeks away. Surely his supervisor would protest if Lark hadn’t discovered the Lord of the Smugglers before then.
Which brought him back to his purpose. “The Midsummer Masquerade sounds delightful. But I’m interested in another sort of entertainment in the meantime. I’d like to go sailing. Can you recommend a captain who would take me, for a fair price, of course?”
She cocked her head. “Perhaps my brother. He maintains my father’s ketch in the cove. And he could use a reminder that there are gainful ways of making an income.”
Interesting. Was her brother given to less gainful ways of earning a living? Smuggling, perhaps? No, surely not a Chance.
“Sounds like the perfect choice,” Lark acknowledged. “Would he be available today?”
“The tide’s coming in,” she said. “That’s a difficult time to leave t
he cove.”
Or enter the caves, from what he’d gleaned. “Then perhaps at the change in the tide,” he said.
She stiffened. “I see your plan, sir. You’re still fixed on those caves below Castle How. No one will take you there. It isn’t safe.”
“It’s safe for some,” he insisted.
“You’re thinking about that light,” she accused him.
Lark shrugged. “Someone put it in the window.”
Her nose wrinkled, making her look years younger. “And why should you care if they did?”
Best to dance around that. “It’s a mystery, like your masquerade. Think how much fun it would be to solve.”
“Fun? You have no concept of the dangers of sailing into those waters. The area is called the Dragon’s Maw for good reason.”
What, had her aunt named the spot? “The Dragon’s Maw?”
She thrust up two fingers. “For the rocks that guard the entrance. And the waves pounding the cliff give off a sort of roar. Besides, only Mr. Howland could give you permission. The caves are on his family’s property.”
A fact that gave him pause even now. “And does every youth in Grace-by-the-Sea get permission from the magistrate to sail into the caves?”
“Well, no,” she admitted, reluctance lacing each word. “But I would not feel comfortable recommending anyone to take you unless Mr. Howland approved the visit.”
Frustration made him shift on his feet. “I had hoped not to trouble the magistrate.”
Her chin came up. “I’m afraid I must insist. If you are determined to know the source of that light, you have no reason to visit those caves, sir. You need only tour the castle.”
Her face was set; her eyes snapped fire. And the color that had fled when Miss Archer had brought the news of the council’s plans was returning in force.
“Let us approach this logically,” she said in a surprisingly calm voice. “You wish to discover the source of that light in Castle How. I’d like to keep my guests entertained. What if I approach Mr. Howland? If he saw this light in the window last night, he must be curious as to how it came about.”