by Regina Scott
Whatever that might be.
~~~
Lark’s ride to Weymouth seemed longer than he remembered, for all he arrived as the sun was setting on Thursday. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d left Jess behind, though she had accompanied him in his thoughts as surely as if she had sat on the saddle with him. He’d ridden past a flock of sheep grazing on the Downs and remembered the day they’d run together along the headland. The blue sky reminded him of the blue depths of her gaze. The very air smelled of the lavender sachet she favored. He was lost and never happier.
Except for the matter of her brother and the smugglers.
“A difficult situation, to be sure,” Commissioner Franklin had acknowledged when Lark met with him Friday morning in his offices overlooking Weymouth Harbour and explained what he had surmised in Grace-by-the-Sea. “I see your point about Howland, but we can’t go accusing someone of his station without proof.”
“And what proof would you want?” Lark asked. “To catch him at the tiller of a sloop filled with brandy?”
The commissioner eyed him. “That would certainly help.”
It would, but he doubted Howland would be so obvious. He would be the leader. Other men were fetching and unloading the cargo.
“Then send me back with a squad of dragoons,” Lark begged. “Someone who can stand with me against these smugglers.”
Franklin grimaced. “I’d like to, but we’re spread thin as it is. We had a run in with a sloop last night, I understand. They were trying to land just east of Grace Cove. Cutter chased them to farther to the east and lost them.” He shifted on his padded chair. “Probably dispersed up some creek by now, the goods halfway to London.”
“Just east of Grace Cove, you say?” Lark leaned forward. “That could be the group we’ve been seeking. I never have found any evidence they sail from the cove proper, despite the information we were given, though I did spot an older landing place along that stretch of cliff.”
The commissioner nodded. “If you can discover when a cargo is coming in, I will have men stationed to help you catch the criminals in the act.”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” Lark promised. “But there’s another matter I wanted to bring to your attention. I could use an assistant on this assignment, and I have the very man. Alexander Chance, son of the previous physician. His insights into the area could be invaluable.”
“But can the boy be trusted?” The commissioner’s face tightened. “We’ve had more than one officer turn traitor for profit.”
“Not Alexander Chance,” Lark vowed. “He comes from a good family, and he’s a respected member of the community.”
That last bit might have been an overstatement, but the Chance family had built the village. There were still those who remembered.
“Very well,” the commissioner agreed. “At half your salary, of course, and only until you finish this assignment.”
Now came the tricky part. “And when the assignment is finished,” Lark said cautiously, “I have a proposal about what I might do next.”
“Oh?” Commissioner Franklin leaned back in his chair. “Fancy returning to Kent, do you?”
“No,” Lark said. “I was wondering about the stretch from the Durdle Door to Brandy Bay recently. Do you have a Riding Officer there?”
“Not at the moment,” the commissioner replied. “It’s a difficult assignment. Rugged headlands, secluded coves. Hard for one man to keep an eye on that four miles of coast.”
“One very determined man could do it,” Lark countered, “if he was based in Grace-by-the-Sea.”
Franklin chuckled. “It seems you enjoyed the spa more than you’d thought.”
“It’s a charming village,” Lark said, “and my mother and sisters live in Upper Grace. It has become clear they would prefer my company more than once a year or so.”
“Ah.” The commissioner swung his gaze out the window. In the harbor below, dozens of ships rode at anchor, masts pointing at the grey sky. He seemed to study them a moment before turning to meet Lark’s gaze. “You have distinguished yourself in the service, Mr. Denby. I’m not sure a Riding Officer post still suits you.”
Lark’s heart sank. “I’m pleased you find my work useful, sir. I can assure you I would continue to serve you well along the Dorset coast.”
“I’m sure you would,” Commissioner Franklin said. “That’s why I’d like to make you Riding Surveyor for the area from Weymouth to Poole.”
Lark stared at him. A Riding Surveyor made nearly twice as much as a Riding Officer. He could afford a house. He could support a wife! And if he could catch these smugglers, Grace-by-the-Sea might be one of the only villages where he wouldn’t have to worry about his wife being ashamed, shunned, or harmed because of his profession.
“I’d put five men under you, each managing a four-mile stretch,” the commissioner continued, as if he thought Lark’s stunned silence meant he required more persuasion. “Four are already in place and good men. The fellow at Osmington Mills was the one who gave us the intelligence on this Lord of the Smugglers. You could suggest someone to take the post through Grace-by-the-Sea. Perhaps this Alexander Chance, if he proves worthy.”
Lark stood. “Sir, I would be honored to accept the position.”
The commissioner allowed himself a smile. “Good. Now, just see that you catch these smugglers.”
“I will,” Lark said. “I’ll send word as soon as I know more. Thank you, sir.”
The commissioner waved a hand. “Off you go, now. Do us proud.”
He would. And he’d do one better.
He’d propose marriage to Jess.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jess trudged home from the council meeting, shoulders tight and skirts sagging. Her position, her home, gone. Her family’s place in Grace-by-the-Sea, all but obliterated. What was she to do now?
She had reached the door of the cottage when she heard it, the splash of wood through water. She turned to eye the cove. In the darkness, she could just make out a small boat heading for the shore. Who was coming in so late?
The door opened behind her, shoving light past on either side, and a hand grasped her shoulder.
“Get inside, quickly,” Maudie whispered. “King Neptune is rallying his forces to attack.”
“The Lord of the Smugglers, more likely,” Jess said, turning and pushing into the cottage. “Where’s Alex?”
“Out,” Maudie said.
Of course he was.
Whatever he was doing, she had to stop him. She might not be able to manage her own future at the moment, but she could protect his.
Jess strode to the wall to fetch her winter cloak. She’d considered wearing it once to follow her brother but had dismissed the idea because she was determined to be a lady, the revered hostess of the spa.
What had that achieved?
Her father had taught her to stand up for herself, to help those who could not. He’d taught her to sail, as if she was every bit the equal of the young men in the village. She’d been the one to choose the path of gracious lady, to attempt to hem in every part of her life with the idea that that would somehow make her better, more attractive, more suitable. Less likely to attract the attention of scoundrels like Walter Vincent.
Less likely to lose someone dear to her like Lark.
Somehow, in dealing with the pain of his leaving, she’d lost her way. His return had only made that obvious. What was most important was protecting those she loved: her family, her guests, her village. She slung the cloak about her shoulders and pulled up the hood.
“Stay here,” she told Maudie, heading to the door.
Maudie caught her arm, eyes wild. “Don’t go! It’s dangerous!”
“More dangerous for Alex than me,” Jess promised her. “But I’ll be careful.”
Maudie must have seen something on her face or heard it in her voice, for she released her hold. Jess slipped out the door and shut it behind her. Wrapping her cloak closer, she crept down the shore p
ath, her back to the sheds. The small boat was nearly ashore. She could see a figure at the oars. She was angling to meet the boat when a hand seized her arm and pulled her close.
“What are you doing?” Alex demanded, voice low and sharp. “He’ll see you.”
“Who?” Jess asked, but she hunkered down with him in the shadow of the shed.
“Mr. Bascom, unless I miss my guess,” Alex whispered.
Though her curiosity burned, Jess kept her mouth shut as the little craft crunched onto the shore. The man jumped out, hauled it farther up the beach, away from the rising waters. As he turned, the moon popped out from behind a cloud to outline his heavy, bearded face.
Alex was right. It was Mr. Bascom. Was he trying to steal a march on his competitors again? But surely with such a fitful moon, he would catch few fish tonight. Why, he wouldn’t even be able to haul nets on his own.
Which meant he hadn’t been fishing at all.
Jess sucked in a breath as the realization hit. “I knew it,” she whispered to Alex. “He’s the Lord of the Smugglers.”
“Right,” Alex said, but his tone did not sound certain. She’d have given anything to see his ears.
Mr. Bascom reached into his coat and pulled out something. Moonlight glinted on metal as he lifted his hand to point a pistol in their direction. “You can come out. I know you’re there.”
Alex’s grip on Jess’s arm tightened. She didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Bascom scowled at them. “Think, boy. I could as easily shoot your sister as you.”
Alex groaned, but he released Jess. Before she knew what he was about, he’d stepped away from the shed into a patch of moonlight and held up his hands. “It’s just me.”
Oh, the brave, dear boy! Jess glanced around, looking for something, anything, she might use to shield him.
“No, it isn’t just you,” the fisherman said. “Or you wouldn’t have come out bold as brass. But you better hope your sister is listening, or there will be no one to come save you.”
What was this? Jess froze, staring at the tableau before her.
“I don’t need saving,” Alex said, head high. “I fight my own battles.”
“That you do,” Bascom allowed. “I’m sorry you found your way into this. You’ve been a good friend to my Ike. But you’ll be coming with me, now.”
Jess swallowed.
“Why?” Alex asked.
“As a sort of protection,” he answered. “You see, some friends of mine plan on coming through Grace-by-the-Sea tomorrow night. A revenue cutter stopped us from landing where we’d intended, and I haven’t found another place just yet. Preventers are patrolling too much of the coast these days. But we have orders to fill, so we’ll be coming right through the village when the tide’s at its lowest.”
What would that be, after midnight tomorrow? Most villagers would be asleep then, never knowing the dark cargo passing their homes.
Alex must not have realized the time, for he shook his head. “No one in Grace-by-the-Sea will stand for that.”
Not if they knew it was happening.
“They will,” Bascom predicted. “They must. Because if anyone tries to stop us, you’ll be heading into the sea with an anchor around your neck. Did you hear that, Miss Chance?”
Jess drew in a breath and stepped out of the shadows, holding herself tall and proud. “I heard that, Mr. Bascom. But this is your village too. How could you betray it?”
He snorted. “My village? You spa people think you’re the only ones that matter.” His voice took on a mincing tone. “Must have the best fish for the guests, never mind hungry families. Your boy needs new shoes? A shame. I’m too busy making slippers for some delicate miss who already has a dozen pairs.” He spit toward the water, then held the gun higher.
“Not this time. This time, I get what’s coming to me. You’re the spa hostess. Everyone in the village will listen to you. That nosy fellow you’ve been keeping company with will listen to you. If you want to see your brother alive again, you tell them all to stand down, look the other way, tomorrow night.”
“I’ll tell them,” Jess vowed. But she wasn’t about to tell him what else she would do. “Watch out for yourself, Alex.”
“You too,” her brother said before Henry Bascom reached out his free hand and marched him away from the cove. Jess watched long enough to know the fisherman didn’t head for his cottage but straight up High Street, as if he had friends waiting on the Downs.
Friends, or other smugglers. Perhaps the same ones who had left those wagon tracks down the coast. Neither they nor their customers likely cared that a young man’s life hung in the balance.
Drawing another deep breath, she turned for the cottage, mind working.
Maudie was waiting just inside the door, hat pin in her fingers. “What’s the word to pass?” she asked, needle-sharp point poised.
“Never surrender,” Jess said, stepping inside and shutting the door.
Maudie lowered the pin. “Close enough. Where’s Alex?”
“Taken,” Jess said, removing her cloak with cold fingers. “By Henry Bascom.”
Maudie nodded. “To feed to the mermaids in exchange for good fishing. Never worry, Jesslyn. They take good care of lads like Alex. Why, they’ve been holding my Francis for thirty years.”
Something caught in Jess’s throat, and she returned to her aunt’s side to give her a hug. Maudie’s body felt frail, precious.
“Oh, Aunt,” Jess murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Maudie answered. “You needn’t worry about me. I know there are no mermaids, no fairies, though I did think I saw a troll once.”
She pulled back to eye Jess with a smile. “But wouldn’t life be interesting if they were all around us?”
Jess had to smile as well. “Yes, Aunt, it certainly would.” She sobered. “But I don’t think they would be kind to Henry Bascom. He’s a smuggler. And he plans to bring the rest of his crew and his cargo through Grace-by-the-Sea tomorrow night.”
Maudie put her hands on her hips. “I won’t stand for it. This is a law-abiding village. Ask the trolls. Besides, no smuggler ever felt the need to come through the village before.”
“I know,” Jess said. She should probably sit at the table, but concern for Alex kept her on her feet. “Lark thought they might be using the caves under Castle How.”
“Not them, the cowards,” Maudie scoffed. “The last ones to sail in besides you and Lark were Alex and Ike Bascom. They wanted to prove they could make it through the Dragon’s Maw.”
Jess frowned at her. “How do you know?”
Maudie pointed to her right ear. “His ears, girl, his ears.”
“And the light in the castle window?” Jess challenged.
“Fairies,” Maudie said knowingly.
“It makes as much sense as the rest of this,” Jess allowed. She eyed her aunt. “What if we alerted Magistrate Howland?”
Maudie sighed. “What can he do by himself? Grace-by-the-Sea has no local militia. That’s why so many of our lads will be marching away shortly.”
And even those had no training in fighting. Why, the only two people who might know what to do about this were Captain St. Claire and Lark.
One she could not trust. The other held her heart.
Might as well admit it, if only to herself. She had fallen in love with Larkin Denby all over again, only this time was deeper, stronger. She wasn’t an infatuated girl on her first Season. He wasn’t a boy bent on adventure. It didn’t matter that his work might take her far from these familiar shores. It didn’t matter that she’d have only herself, no dowry, no family name, to contribute to the marriage. All that mattered was that they were together, her family safe.
Henry Bascom had threatened the wrong village, the wrong people. She would do what she must, and hope Lark arrived in time to help.
~~~
If anyone had been watching Jess as she went about her work on Saturday, they would have noticed n
othing out of the ordinary. She stopped by Mrs. Rinehart’s shop and came out with a flowered bonnet. She spent a few moments chatting with her good friend Abigail. She greeted Mr. Carroll as he was sweeping his stoop and exchanged pleasantries. She ventured into the grocer’s as if to inquire about biscuits for tea. She opened the door of the spa exactly on time, started the fountain, and arranged the glasses.
And plotted a revolution.
Lord Featherstone was the first to arrive. He listened intently to her, as if she was advising him on which wealthy lady might welcome his advances. Mr. Crabapple came next, followed by Mrs. Harding. They too spoke with the spa hostess for some time, but that was nothing new. Mrs. Cole and her daughter and the Admiral also received attention.
Miss Barlow and her mother arrived last. Susan Barlow settled her mother by the fountain before repairing for Jess’s side.
“I was so sorry to hear about the result of last night’s meeting,” she said, dark eyes sagging. “I had no idea what the council was planning. I thought they wanted a hostess.”
What, had Mrs. Greer called on her immediately following the meeting? “They are responsible for the wellbeing of the spa,” Jess told her with her usual smile. “If my presence interferes with that, they are right to discharge me.”
“How brave you are,” Miss Barlow enthused.
She had no idea.
Her Regulars and Newcomers settled, Jess busied herself with correspondence. Mr. Inchley’s son arrived at precisely ten, as she had requested, and took her notes to deliver. She found herself watching the door, not just because of those notes. If only Lark would return!
Mr. Howland graced the spa with his presence at half past ten and caused a bit of a flurry among the unmarried ladies. Jess rescued him from Miss Barlow, stationed him in a quiet corner, and brought him a glass from the fountain.
“I’m sorry to hear you are under the weather, Magistrate,” she said for the benefit of her Newcomers. “But you’ve come to the right place.”