by Regina Scott
“I fear I must disagree,” Mr. Howland said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We cannot tolerate such crime. I will not allow it on my property.”
“I would not ask you to tolerate it,” Jess assured him. “Surely you can capture the fellow.”
Lark had recovered. “We’ll lay a trap here at the castle. Meet them when they come in.”
“We can certainly try,” Mr. Howland allowed. “But word will get out that we were here today. They may not return to this spot.”
Lark’s face darkened, and she would not have been surprised to hear him grind his teeth.
“I can understand Mr. Howland’s concern for lawful behavior,” she told Lark. “He is the steward of this castle and a magistrate sworn to uphold the law. You called this a mystery, yet you seem inordinately determined to solve it. Why are you taking such an interest in local affairs, sir?”
The magistrate eyed him, head cocked, waiting, but the smile hovering told her he knew the answer already. She sucked in a breath, narrowed her eyes at Lark.
Pink crept into his firm cheeks, as if he had been caught pouring his glass of spa water into a potted palm. But he straightened his spine and met her gaze.
“I am a Riding Officer, Miss Chance. I was sent to Grace-by-the-Sea to stop a smuggler.”
Disappointment washed over her, stronger than the waves on the shore. He hadn’t come for the spa or to reacquaint himself with their little village. He would never be a Regular or even an Irregular. Why did she persist in hoping otherwise?
“I see,” she said. “And you thought to find this smuggler at my spa?”
Her words echoed in the room, sounding all the more accusatory with the repetition.
“I did,” he confessed. “Or at least my superior believed the spa might be involved. The man leading this smuggling ring considers himself a gentleman. He may even pass for one in public. Where better to conceal himself than with other gentlemen at the spa?”
Exasperation sent her hands into the air. “Oh, certainly. We have any number of gentlemen, as you have noted. Perhaps the villain is Lord Featherstone. He’s never sailed a day in his life unless it was as a passenger on a fancy yacht, but why consider such trivial matters? Or Mr. Crabapple. I’m sure the local fishermen would rally around him. No, no, the Admiral or the General, who could not accompany us today. I’m sure the Admiral’s excuse that his corset is too tight to allow him to climb the headland is merely a ruse.”
He ducked his head, but his abashed look did not ease her frustration. “I grant you there were more likely candidates elsewhere,” he allowed.
“I quite agree,” she said, lowering her hands. “The most likely fellow in Grace-by-the-Sea to be a smuggler is you.”
He reared back, but Mr. Howland nodded, lower lip thrust out.
“She’s right, you know,” he said thoughtfully. “Strong man who knows something about sailing, highly interested in the cove and the local population.”
“Sneaking about at night,” Jess put in.
“Is he?” Mr. Howland tutted. “And we have only that letter to prove he is who he claims to be.”
“Letter?” Jess asked, but Lark took a step back.
“Now, see here,” he said, chin up once more and eyes flashing. “I am an agent of the king.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Howland said. “But perhaps I should lock you up until I can write to Weymouth for confirmation.”
“That is your right,” he allowed, “but I hope you will reconsider. Time is of the essence if we’re to catch these smugglers.”
He was so intent on seeing justice done that it was hard to keep her temper hot. Already she could feel it cooling, like a boat stuck in calmed winds, sails hanging slack.
“I agree, Mr. Howland,” she said. “Locking up Mr. Denby, however satisfying in the moment, would hardly serve the purpose of stopping the smugglers, if there truly are any in Grace-by-the-Sea. And he could not have put that light in the window last night. Though he arrived late, he was at the assembly until it closed, and the light apparently appeared around that time.”
Lark drew a breath as Mr. Howland nodded again. “Very well. On Miss Chance’s good report, I will refrain from confining you, Mr. Denby, for now. But I must ask. How are we to identify and stop these smugglers?”
And what would she do if the trail led to someone she cared about? Impossible! Unthinkable!
Lark opened his mouth to respond, but Jess spoke before he could. “I am certain it can be no one in Grace-by-the-Sea. Mr. Denby and I will investigate the area. We will bring you a report within a week’s time.”
“We will not,” Lark put in with a look to her. He turned to the magistrate. “However we decide to proceed, Miss Chance cannot be involved. It could be dangerous.”
“It could be more dangerous without me,” Jess protested. “You do not know our ways, our traditions, sir. Why, you suspected Lord Featherstone!”
“Not for long,” he admitted.
Mr. Howland held up his free hand. “Miss Chance is right, Denby. You’ve been blundering around in the dark. Time to enlist the aid of someone who knows the area.”
“Then let it be you,” he said. “You can make some excuse for my presence. The fewer who know my true purpose, the more likely they’ll be to answer our questions. And I refuse to endanger Miss Chance’s reputation, her business, or her life.”
He was so fervent on her behalf that she could not help but be touched. Not enough to back down, of course.
Mr. Howland was less moved. “I see no need to endanger her. You will go about in full daylight. Take Mrs. Tully with you if you feel you must have a chaperone. I will explain to the Spa Corporation that I have requested Miss Chance’s and your help to confirm the returns we must submit to the lord-lieutenant for Dorset.”
“Some suspect Mr. Denby of being an equerry,” Jess told him, “so the excuse is plausible.”
“Then your position will be protected until you feel the need to reveal it, Denby,” Howland agreed. “And with you at Miss Chance’s side, I’m sure she’ll be safe.”
Jess nodded. “You see, Mr. Denby? All perfectly logical. Now, we should return to the others. I’ll develop a plan of action for you. We can discuss it at the spa first thing.”
~~~
Maddening, the pair of them. He could understand Jess’s desire to be involved—these were her people, this was her home, and she understood the dynamics better than anyone. But surely Howland could see the potential problems. Whoever had placed that light in the window had access to his family estate, was abetting the smugglers. That person would not take kindly to discovery.
Unless Howland thought Lark and Jess could not discover that person.
The thought remained on his mind as they descended the stairs for the great hall. Howland went first, with Jess behind and Lark in the rear. Over the musty scent of the castle, he became aware of a trace of lavender in the air. Was that what she used to wash her hair? Her high bun bounced with each step, and he had to fist his hands at his sides to prevent himself from reaching up to touch the silky strands that broke free.
He forced himself to consider the situation instead. Jess now knew his secret, so at least he no longer needed to posture with her. That fact brought an unexpected rush of relief. And Howland was giving them a reasonable story for their investigation, though he pitied anyone who truly thought he spent his time as a sycophant to the royal household.
Jess had intimated the sort of fellow they were looking for, and the magistrate had used the same metric. The Lord of the Smugglers could only be a strong, healthy man who knew something of sailing and could inspire the aid of the locals. Howland looked strong enough—he was of a height with Lark and had shoulders nearly as broad. Having lived all his life in Grace-by-the-Sea, he likely knew something about sailing, and who better to rally the locals than their own trusted magistrate? Besides, he had access to the castle and had left the assembly early, giving him ample time to signal his cronies from the
window.
Did all that mean that Lark’s ally was in reality his enemy?
He watched the magistrate as they returned to the main rooms of the castle. Mrs. Tully must have led her group up the stairs as well, for he could hear her voice above them. “And then she threw him from the window.”
Howland grimaced. “I never realized my family had led quite that colorful an existence.”
Jess gave him a commiserating smile. “She means well. I’m sure you can correct any misperceptions.”
He inclined his head. “You think more highly of my abilities than I do, Miss Chance.” But he went to fetch Maudie and her group.
Jess wore a slight frown as they started back to the spa. Miss Cole was bubbling to her mother about a painting they’d seen and whether she might have a portrait of herself in a similar pose. Mrs. Harding and Mr. Crabapple were discussing the appropriate size and furnishings of a home. Mrs. Tully had her hand glued to Miss Barlow’s arm, as if to prevent her from escaping further musings on the tragedies the castle must have seen. Mr. Howland and Lord Featherstone were deep in conversation at the head of the column.
“We should speak to the vicar first,” Jess said.
“Beg pardon?” Lark asked as they turned for the path down to the village.
“Mr. Wingate,” she explained, lifting her skirts to descend. “He interacts with everyone in the area and may have heard rumors. He also organizes our Sea Fencibles.”
He knew the term. The navy was relying on a network of local boat owners to be the first in the line of defense between England and Napoleon’s ships.
“I have the utmost respect for the trained, skilled sailors who make up the Sea Fencibles,” Lark said. “But I doubt most would be taken as aristocrats.”
“True, but one may be sufficiently full of himself to think to call himself a lord,” Jess said. “Oh, and we should talk to Jack Hornswag as well. He runs the Mermaid, but everyone knows he escaped the navy. He’s been ducking the press gang for years.”
Hornswag held possibilities. The position of the inn near the shore and the ability to pass cargo to travelers headed inland would offer ample opportunities for a smuggler. Landlord, Lord of the Smugglers, perhaps?
“I thought no one in Grace-by-the-Sea could be involved,” he told her.
She shuddered. “I don’t like thinking of anyone in our village being involved. But someone lit that candle and placed it in the window of the castle.” She glanced his way as they came around another turn in the switchback path. “And you’re certain this Lord of the Smugglers sails from Grace Cove?”
“So Commissioner Franklin at Weymouth said.”
She raised her chin. “Well, I do not recall anyone from the Excise Office visiting the spa before, so I doubt he could be much of an authority on Grace-by-the-Sea. And neither are you. You’ve been away too long.”
Lark inclined his head. “Agreed. I look forward to learning what you advise, Miss Chance.”
She sighed. “If we are going to work together, perhaps it would be best if we called each other by our first names. For the sake of efficiency, of course.”
He’d wanted to use her first name since near the moment he’d met her again. He’d already slipped up once. Accepting her excuse was easy now.
“Of course,” he agreed, admiring the pink in her cheeks as she glanced his way.
It was difficult to pretend the rest of the afternoon that nothing had changed. The spa guests chatted about their tour with the others who had rejoined them, exclaimed over what they’d seen, the stories they’d heard. Yet the sound was oddly desultory after his agreement with Howland and Jess. He kept catching her eye as she went about her duties. She always returned a commiserating smile, as if to promise soon.
Lark found himself glancing around the common room at the Mermaid that evening, wondering which of the hearty fellows present might be secretly transporting goods from France. It was all he could do not to confront Jack Hornswag as he poured ale. A bear of a man as broad as he was tall, with a reddish beard that hung to the middle of his barrel of a chest, he joked with his customers and shouted commands to his serving staff. Rather merry fellow for a smuggler, but then, what said a smuggler had to be grim?
He had reached no conclusions by morning and was once again standing by the door of the spa when Jess and her aunt arrived.
As soon Jess opened the spa door, she pulled a piece of parchment from her reticule and held it out to him.
“You suspect Lord Peverell?” he asked, scanning the tasks she’d outlined.
“No, but using the Lodge is as logical a choice as putting a light in the castle window,” she replied.
“Choice?” her aunt asked, standing on tiptoe to see over his arm at the list.
Lark lowered it to hold the ink against his buff trousers. “For a gentleman’s gentleman.”
She dropped down. “Ah, you’re looking for a valet. Who’s the lady?”
Lark managed a smile. “I strongly believe a gentleman owes it to himself to present himself well, regardless of whether he’s courting.”
She snorted. “Not every mermaid would agree.”
“Aunt,” Jess said, “would you check the glasses? I’m not sure Mr. Inchley brought us a clean set.”
With a nod, she toddled off.
Jess stepped closer. “We could check the Lodge and keep an eye out for any activity on the Downs. If that light welcomed smugglers on Wednesday night, shouldn’t we still be able to see evidence on a Friday?”
“No. Smugglers usually work faster than that. Whatever they brought in on Wednesday has likely already reached London and been sold.”
Her brows went up. “They are organized. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check the other headland, see what we can find.” She started for the welcome desk.
She was so determined the villains had to be elsewhere. “Do you have a horse?” he asked, following her.
“No,” she admitted, stowing her things in the desk. “But it’s an easy walk from the spa.”
He could not help his smile. “Isn’t everything?”
“Are you certain that isn’t a list of French agents?” Mrs. Tully asked, reappearing at his side.
Lark tucked the paper into his coat. “Quite certain, thank you.”
“Magistrate Howland would like Mr. Denby and me to assist him in preparations to defend the coast,” Jess told her. “I may need to be away from the spa on occasion the next day or so.”
Her aunt nodded. “I’ll handle things.”
Jess smiled at her. “Thank you, Aunt. And you won’t be alone. I’ll ask Mrs. Harding to help with hostess duties.”
Mrs. Tully raised her chin. “She can’t,” she said with a sniff. “She’s still mourning the death of her husband.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Lark. “I hear he was her third, and they all died under mysterious circumstances.”
“You know very well she was only married once,” Jess reminded her. “And I am delighted she’s taking Mr. Crabapple’s suit seriously.”
“For now,” Mrs. Tully muttered, straightening. “But I’ve been giving him an extra dose of spa water just in case.”
“And do we have sufficient glasses?” Jess asked.
“No,” her aunt grumbled. “Come see for yourself.”
After Jess excused herself and went to the fountain with her aunt, Lark drew out the paper again. Besides checking the Peverell Lodge on the opposite headland, she’d listed speaking with several members of Grace-by-the-Sea, including the vicar, Jack Hornswag at the Mermaid, and Quillan St. Claire, a retired naval officer. Not a promising start. Still, he could think of two other men who might have been able to shed more light on the situation if they were questioned thoroughly. Of course, Jess might be equally cautious about suspecting the magistrate.
And Lark could think of any number of reasons why she might hesitate to include her brother.
Chapter Twelve
Jess had put the vicar at the top of the list an
d left a note on the parsonage door on her way to the spa that morning to alert him to her and Lark’s upcoming visit. Answers to these vexing questions about smugglers in the area could not come soon enough. Alex had never returned that night. Jess had paced the floor until she was forced to retire. Even then, she had tossed and turned, waking to the least noise. She must discover this Lord of the Smugglers, make sure Alex had not fallen under his influence. She owed it to her brother, her father, and herself.
Because Maudie had protested Mrs. Harding’s help, Jess approached Miss Barlow instead. She wasn’t sure how the Newcomer would take her request, but the lady brightened, lashes fluttering.
“Oh, I’d be delighted! Being the hostess of the spa seems a wonderful position. Everyone admires and esteems you.”
It felt like that, most days. Jess thanked her, settled her Regulars, and left them and any Newcomers to the good graces of Maudie and Miss Barlow. Then she put her bonnet back on, collected Lark from a conversation with the Admiral, and started for the door. It felt odd to be leaving the spa in the middle of the day, as if hands reached out to clutch at her and hold her close.
“I’m not sure how they’ll function without you,” Lark said as they started up Church Street.
“I am not indispensable,” she told him. “Ask the Spa Corporation.”
Mrs. Norris, wife of their barber, came out of her cottage, basket draped over one arm, and waved to Jess. Jess waved back.
“Not everyone is blessed with vision,” Lark countered.
“I can’t think much of the vision of your superior,” she said as they approached the long white church with its three-story tower and slender silver cross that had been a gift of the Howlands. “Why would he suspect Grace-by-the-Sea of harboring criminals?”
He held open the wrought iron churchyard gate for her. “You have an excellent cove, a remote location, and skilled sailors.”
“A cove that can be seen by nearly every house in town,” she reminded him. “And sailors who are honest and loyal to their country. More than one has been trained as a Sea Fencible, to anchor off the shore and prevent a landing by the French.” She pointed him around the side of the church for the neat vicarage attached there.