Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] (42 page)

He shrugged. “Dunno, miss. Happen the Frenchies have got a fellow on board to steer the ship off course or cause some sort of accident that’ll bring them in closer, fog or no fog. Wind may pick up some, too, and I heard talk of a pilot boat out o’ Fowey. One way or another, they mean to have the cargo off that ship.”

“How do you know all this?”

He shrugged, but when his gaze slid away from hers, any thought she had had of enlisting his aid disappeared. Cubert was grateful that she had saved Jenifry, but he was not so heedless of his own safety, or that of his family, as to reveal everything the coastal gang had planned, if indeed, he knew everything Most likely, he had heard some of the rumors James Gabriel had heard but, with inside knowledge, had more accurately understood them. Or, perhaps, he was simply unwilling to admit personal knowledge of a plot to capture Wellington and either kill him or hold him to ransom.

“Cubert,” she said, “I’ve changed my mind. I will send Lady Letitia and Jenifry to Tuscombe Park with armed grooms to ensure their safety. I’d be grateful if you would be so kind as to accompany them …”

“Aye, Miss Charley, I’ll do that right enough, but what of you?”

“I have some thinking to do,” Charley said. “Wait here, if you please.”

Expecting to encounter difficulty persuading Letty to agree to the change in her plan, she hurried to the child’s bedchamber, only to discover that Letty had little thought beyond her excitement over Jenifry’s arrival.

“I’m sorry you won’t be there,” Letty said when she had explained, “but since Jenifry can go with me, I won’t even mind when they make me dine alone.”

“Won’t you, darling? I’m glad, for I cannot imagine Alfred or Edythe taking kindly to a suggestion that you do so when the Duke is there. I’m sending Teddy with you, by the bye, as well as Jeb and Mr. Breton. I want you to feel quite safe.”

“But won’t you need Teddy?”

“No,” Charley said. She did not want to have to explain her half-formed intentions to a groom who had known her all her life. The only person to whom she would look for help was one she was certain would not try to hinder her.

When she had seen the girls off with their escort, she went in search of Hodson, finding him in his master’s dressing room, putting clothing in a portmanteau. He turned politely, giving her his full attention.

“Hodson, I’ve changed my mind about tomorrow,” she said. “Lady Letitia has gone on to Tuscombe Park, but I mean to join Sir Antony in Fowey in the morning.”

The man said mildly, “Do you indeed, madam?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I expect that you are taking those things to him, so that he can change from Jean Matois back to himself for the ceremony.”

Showing no surprise at her knowledge, he said, “That is correct, madam.”

“Will you see him tonight?” She could hear the urgency in her tone. So far, she had managed to bury her fears in the need to decide what her actions would be, but her composure was fragile at best.

“I do not expect to see Sir Antony until morning, madam,” the valet said, “but he did ask that I bespeak a chamber for him to use then. I sent a lad yesterday to attend to that, and I am going myself now to take Sir Antony’s shaving gear and clothing, and to assure myself that all is in readiness for him. Shall I take your things as well? I shall not stay there, because he feared that if I were seen to be in residence overnight at the inn, someone might question his absence. I will gladly escort you tomorrow if you like.”

Nodding, she said, “If you should chance to see him, Hodson, tell him I’ve heard that the coastal gang is after a merchantman, and that a pilot boat might somehow be involved. But don’t look for him, lest you put him in danger by doing so. You must come back here if this is where he will expect to find you if he needs you.”

“And you, madam, if I might be so bold? May I tell him what you plan to do?”

“I don’t know what that is yet. I wish I did. My first impulse was to ride for help, but in truth, I know not whom to trust. I can just imagine trying to convince the constable at Fowey that he must raise a hue and cry over a possible attempt to capture Wellington, or the possible wrecking of a merchantman in St. Merryn’s Bay or on the Devil’s Sand. He would think me mad.”

Tactfully, Hodson said, “I do not believe the master would appreciate a hue and cry over anything just now, madam.”

“Very likely not,” she agreed, “but I am also afraid that the villains might have realized that Jean Matois and Sir Antony are one and the same, Hodson. What if they have found him out and taken him prisoner, or worse?”

“That, if I might take leave to say, madam, is a frequent worry where the master is concerned. I myself have felt it often over the years. However, I have learned that he nearly always lands on his feet. You will say that, as his valet, I cannot suffer the same level of anxiety as one who harbors more tender feelings toward him, but I assure you that until you hear he has been put six feet under, there is no cause for alarm.”

Remembering that Antony had said Hodson knew the facts of their marriage, Charley nearly reminded him that she was not-in love with her husband. She held her tongue, however, because whether she was in love with Antony or not—a phrase that sounded much more like a partnership now—she knew that she cared more about him than she had ever cared about anyone before in her life. If that was love, so be it. In any case, she did not contradict Hodson.

By the time Hodson returned it was dark, and she saw at once that he had not met with Antony. When she asked if he had spoken to the constable, he said, “No, madam. As I mentioned before, it is best to rest one’s faith in the master. I have found that when I did not do so, I took a grave chance of upsetting his carefully laid plans.”

He said no more, but Charley did not miss the warning. She tried to contain her soul in patience, but not being a patient person by nature, she soon found her fears increasing to a point where she could no longer sit still. The more she thought about Michael setting a man to watch Antony, the more frightened she became. She had to know. Only then did it occur to her that Michael Peryllys was a wanted man, that if she could tell the constable where he might be found, the constable would have to act.

Upstairs, as she changed to her riding habit without Kerra’s help, her mind raced from one thought to the next. Deciding she could do nothing else until she had learned whether Michael would be at St. Merryn’s Bay or on the Devil’s Sand, she found her gloves, pistol, and riding whip, then put out the lights and opened her curtains. The sky was cloudy, and she had to wait for the slender moon to peep out before she could see the sweeping beach of St. Merryn’s Bay. She saw no activity, but it was early yet, not more than half past nine. She needed to know more before she rode for help.

Hurrying to the stable, she met no one, and no one disturbed her as she bridled Dancer, flung her saddle onto the gelding’s back, and drew the cinch tight. Grateful that she was not a female who needed others to perform such tasks for her, she holstered her pistol, mounted quickly, and guided the horse out of the stable. Minutes later, she was cantering along the dark track toward the cliff road high above the Devil’s Sand.

On the road, she slowed Dancer to a walk until they were past the headland, then dismounted to walk near the edge, looking down. Her eyes had adjusted fully to the darkness, and although the sliver of moon gave her little light as it played hide and seek with the clouds, she was able to see enough of the silvery sand below to know that the tide was starting to turn. She saw no sign of human movement on the beach.

Commanding Dancer to kneel so that she could mount again, and stilling a sudden fear at being so near the edge, she rode back the way she had come, going past the turning to Seacourt House, and along the path above St. Merryn’s Bay. She had not ridden far when she saw a single flicker of light on the shingle below. It was gone in an instant, but it had been enough. Someone was there.

Curiosity stirred, and she told herself that Fowey’s constable might not believe her solely on the basis of rumor and one flickering light. Thus it was that although she passed the first and second of several precipitous trails leading down to the beach, when she came to the third, she rode away from it, off the main path, and into a protected hollow. Tying her reins to some scrub shrubbery, she hoped Dancer would remain there undisturbed until she returned, and that any sound the gelding made would be attributed to the gang’s own ponies, which must, she knew, be somewhere nearby.

Taking her pistol from the holster on her saddle, she picked up her skirt and hurried back along the main path to the narrow, twisting trail that led down to the beach. She did not mean to go all the way, just far enough so that she could find a spot that would give her a good view of what was happening below. She had taken no more than ten careful steps down the steep path, however, before a dark figure loomed up and grabbed her, and a heavy hand clapped over her mouth.

A
NTONY CROUCHED SOME DISTANCE
from the opening of the largest of several caves that the sea had carved into the chalk cliff. He knew that Michael’s men stood in the entrance, and he did not want to draw attention to himself. Though it had taken time to learn where they would be, he had found them easily enough, but although he had watched most of them enter the cave, he had not seen Michael.

Gabriel had got his signals crossed, he thought, for if these men were after the Duke, they did not know it. They had spoken of him, and a few had done so with some chagrin, but he suspected those simply feared they might miss seeing him. All their attention now was focused on the sea, but in the direction of the Bay of Biscay, and they murmured of a merchantman and riches to be had before the night was over.

He had feared at first that someone might recognize Jean Matois and Sir Anthony Foxearth as one and the same. Earlier, when he had eased his way into their midst, more than one had given him a sharp look, especially when he asked about Michael, but each man with whom he had spoken expected to see Michael on the beach tonight.

Antony soon decided he had not been wrong in thinking the men had grown more reticent, and he soon understood the reason. For some time he had known that they both liked and mistrusted the fact that he spoke French. It meant they were no longer wholly dependent upon Michael to tell them what the Frenchmen said; however, they did not trust Frenchmen. Now, unless he was much mistaken, they had also heard the rumors of
Le Renardeau’s
presence in Cornwall.

At another time, in another circumstance, he might have found humor in being outmaneuvered by his alter ego. Tonight it was not funny. He could only be thankful that no one had accused him outright of being the elusive Frenchman. He hoped they would continue to assume that someone with such a vast reputation for cunning as the Fox Cub enjoyed would have a more imposing personality than the simple Jean Matois.

Men moved on the beach now, quietly and without lights, except for one idiot who had lighted his spout lantern moments before, only to have another man douse it with a muttered curse. The moon disappeared behind a solid bank of clouds, and the chilly mist made itself felt. As darkness and damp closed around him, Antony wished he had thought to provide himself with oilskins.

The brief glow of lantern light had ruined his night vision, but it was returning. He could see the lacy crests of waves breaking against the shingle now. The tide was rising. He didn’t suppose it would make much difference to the wreckers’ plan if it began to ebb before the merchantman arrived—if it did arrive. He was still skeptical. That they had set their trap in St. Merryn’s Bay instead of further to the east argued that they expected their prey to approach from the west, but without yet knowing exactly what they intended, he did not dare assume that Wellington was safe.

He hoped Oakes and his men were well hidden, and would not move too soon. Moonlight glimmered through a break in the clouds, highlighting waves as they broke on the shingle. The beach appeared deserted, but he knew men hid behind many a boulder, watching the sea.

His thoughts drifted to Charley, and he wondered what she was thinking at that moment. No doubt she was annoyed that he had not returned to Seacourt Head to tell her all he had learned. There would be a reckoning for that, in time, but at least she was out of the business for now, safely abed at Tuscombe Park House.

The man who grabbed Charley had caught her hand and pistol in such a way that she could not have fired the gun if she had wanted to. A gruff voice muttered near her ear, “Not a whisper, my lady, if you would not bring all to ruin.”

Scarcely the words of a knave or a brute, she thought, holding still and making no effort to free herself. Her heart was pounding, and she yearned to express her strong displeasure at nearly having the liver and lights frightened out of her. The man knew her. That much was clear. She hoped that, knowing who she was, he would have sense enough not to harm her. Wanting to draw a deep breath, and realizing her left hand was free, she tugged at the rough hand clamped over her mouth.

He said, “I’ll want your assurance of silence, ma’am, and I’ll keep the pistol for now, if you please.”

Definitely not a knave. She nodded, released her hold on the gun, and when he took his hand away from her mouth, she said quietly, “Who are you?”

“Francis Oakes, ma’am. I have the honor to be—”

“The agent for Lloyd’s of London in St. Austell,” she said. “Sir Antony has mentioned you to me.”

“Has he? Then may I take it that you are in Sir Antony’s confidence, my lady?”

She wondered about that, and wondered, too, just how much Mr. Oakes knew about Antony. Deciding to take the simplest course and hope he would explain himself further, she said, “I am.”

“Excellent. Now we’d best get you away from this track at once, ma’am. I doubt that they can see us from below, but it would be as well to take no chance of it. I want these villains in custody before the night is done.”

“It’s a merchantman they are after,” Charley said, “not the Duke.”