Deadly Peril (17 page)

His voice trailed off on a sudden thought. Talk of customs procedures made him remember the ransom note, to which he had not given much consideration since the interview at his townhouse with Lord Cobham. And that was because his godmother had dismissed the need for him to read it. If he were inclined to be cynical, he would think that deliberate on her part. But why?

“Your Grace. Mrs. Jamison-Lewis,” he said abruptly, looking at both. “If you have anything to declare, such as jewelry or coin, you would be wise to hand it to me now.”

“Jewelry? Coin? Why should you think we would?” the Duchess replied a little too quickly and vehemently. “You specifically warned us before we left London that we must leave any valuable trinkets at home. What you see here on my ears are paste. So too, my necklace and ring. We don’t have a diamond hairclip between us. Do we, Selina—
Selina
?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Selina replied steadily, not a look at Alec, and her gloved hands within her muff tightly intertwined and pressed protectively against her velvet bodice. A bodice that had under it the pair of jumps with the secret pockets full of enough jewelry and jewels between the quilted cotton layers to purchase a German baronial manor, if not a
schloss
. “Not one diamond hairclip between us.” That much was true.

Something in the Duchess’s tone, and Selina’s mannered reply, made Alec instantly suspicious. But he was not given the opportunity to interrogate them further because Sir Gilbert was demanding his attention. They had finally come to the head of the line. Alec reluctantly turned away to act as interpreter, and thus failed to notice the two women grab at each other’s gloved hands for mutual support of their lie.

But Plantagenet Halsey saw the gesture, and made a mental note to find out exactly what was meant by it. Now was not the time. Now he just wanted this interminable wait to be over with, and to be out of the freezing weather and into a warm room with a cup of hot tea. He was very sure everyone else around him felt the same. And then something happened that would have far reaching consequences for all of them, and answered why his nephew had forced that promise out of him aboard ship. Still, the shock of discovering the truth behind that promise could not have been more startling. Cup of tea be damned. He needed brandy, and a good lie-down!

T
EN

A
S
S
IR
G
ILBERT
waited to present his red leather wallet full of documentation, he droned on at Alec that he wanted every word interpreted, not just a précis. But Alec was listening with only one ear, a technique he had perfected while Sir Gilbert’s junior all those years ago. His blue eyes searched for Jacob Luytens amongst the crowd beyond the Customs barrier where sat two officials at a long low mahogany table, with an elderly secretary and his assistant inking into pages of thick ledgers.

The Customs officials were perusing the identity papers of three men ahead of them in the queue. All were of middling years, merchants by the look of their somber clothes and boots, and most likely residents, as they were conversing fluently in Dutch. This allowed the official to get away with telling them more than the German-speaking soldiers would have permitted, and been very surprised to hear. The official gave what sounded like a rehearsed speech, warning them that the entire town was under martial law, and that every citizen was required to comply and show instant obedience. But then he added a statement that Alec found most interesting indeed: That if the men wanted to know the true state of affairs in Emden, they were to seek out their kinsman who worked for the English and was a regular at
The Golden Swan
inn. There was a meeting after dark, which at this time of year meant no later than four in the afternoon.

Alec knew only one man in Emden who worked for the English: Jacob Luytens.

The three men then had their identity papers stamped, folded, and returned, before being escorted by two soldiers to collect their belongings from the designated piles down by the canal, less than fifty paces away. Here citizens of the town, wealthy travelers who could pay the duties imposed, and the very poor who owned little of worth to the state but were healthy enough to be put to work, were collecting up their personal belongings. They were not, however, permitted to take everything they owned. Those items designated for the war effort were duly confiscated.

Alec cast his gaze over the steadily increasing piles of seized goods being offloaded from the tugboats which continued to come and go, hoping to recognize the cargo from
The Caroline
—his bags, trunks, crates, and belongings, and the belongings of his fellow passengers. But they had yet to arrive. So he was about to give his full attention to Sir Gilbert, who had slapped down his documents before the Customs officials, when there was a loud splash, as something or someone fell or was thrown into the canal.

A shout for help went up. It was definitely a someone. Wharf laborers threw down what they were sorting and rushed to the water’s edge. One of the jagers who handled the horses pulling the tugs along the canal had been knocked into the icy water. He had disappeared below the surface. A wharf laborer grabbed a coil of rope from a bollard. Another jumped up onto one of the boats, then up on to its low roof, and scampered across to disappear down the other side. The man with the rope slung the coil over his head and followed.

The long line of passengers rippled forward, eager for a look, some from macabre interest but most because it was a welcome diversion from the boredom of waiting to be processed. There was a good deal of splashing and cries for help out of their line of sight because of the horses and tugboats blocked their view. This made the crowd even more curious to catch a glimpse of the action, and they surged closer.

The soldiers were forgotten as passengers broke ranks and scurried to the water’s edge. The captain sent a sergeant with a squad, not to assist in the rescue of the poor unfortunate drowning, or his fellows trying to fish him out before he froze to death, but to aid their comrades in forcing the crowd back from the canal to the walkway. The sight of more soldiers marching up and down the line was enough for most to obey, but there were those too caught up in the dramatic rescue who either did not hear or ignored the command. And it was only when they were shoved back or had the butt of a musket slammed hard into a rib, and men began collapsing to the cobblestones, that the rest of the passengers quickly complied, the corporal bellowing at them in his mangled Dutch mixed with his native German, as to what happens to those who do not do as ordered.

But a girl in a plain woolen cloak and worn half boots ignored the directive and remained riveted, mesmerized by the rescue of the jager. Before her grandfather could pull her back beside him, a soldier had her by the arm. He did not push her towards the crowd, but dragged her away, two grinning soldiers eagerly following.

Watching the girl being manhandled decided Selina. She could no longer be a bystander; she was beyond patience; something had to be done, and at once. She glanced at Alec, to see his reaction, but he was preoccupied, his back to the group and deep in conversation, interpreting for Sir Gilbert with the Emden Customs officials. So she took matters in hand. Later she was to wonder at her impetuosity, but it was an instinctive reaction, one which stemmed from her own experience at the hands of a violent husband. No longer would she or other females with whom she came into contact suffer male abuse. She gave no thought that her foolhardy actions would jeopardize all that Alec had striven to achieve to keep the English legation from being targeted by the military. Nor did she give a care to her personal safety, forgetting she had a treasure chest of jewels and coin hidden in her stays. Out of a sense of natural justice—the vulnerable and weak must always be protected—all she cared about at that moment was restoring the girl to her grandfather.

Selina broke from the orderly line. The Duchess gave an involuntary gasp. Plantagenet Halsey called out to her. Her lady’s maid grabbed for her cloak. Hadrian Jeffries took a step out of the line to see what Mrs. Jamison-Lewis meant to do, saw her approach the soldiers who had a girl in custody and immediately interrupted Lord Halsey in mid sentence, thrusting himself between Sir Gilbert and his master.

Several passengers behind the English legation turned as one sending the queue whiplashing all the way to the back of the line. The girl’s distraught grandfather saw Selina sweep up to the soldiers, and followed on her cloak hem.

Everyone who was witness to this extraordinary scene had the same thoughts: What did this woman mean to do? What could she possibly say to these soldiers? Was she insane? Perhaps that was it. She must not be in her right mind.

Selina wasn’t precisely sure what she was going to do either, and in hindsight would agree her actions appeared the act of a madwoman. But that did not deter her. She tugged her gloved hands out of her warm fur muff and let it fall on its riband about her waist, to grab at her hood, holding it close under her chin, to keep it over her hair, and the cold out. With a fistful of quilted petticoats in her free hand to stop the hems from trailing in the muck, she bustled along the canal edge as fast as her pattens would allow, intercepting the soldiers with the girl between them before they disappeared into the Customs House.

Half a dozen bored soldiers guarding the customs checkpoint, stamping their boots to ward off the bitter cold, watched with veiled interest as a female in a red cloak and an old man tripping on her hem confronted a corporal and two of their fellows, who had between them a plump little bird. The girl would do nicely to alleviate their frustrations, and without the fear of catching the pox, as was likely to happen with the whores on offer in this rat-infested backwater. Perhaps the female in the red cloak could be coerced to join her. Their chilled bones were momentarily forgotten as they nudged each other with bawdy insinuations and eagerly watched the little drama unfold.

“Unhand her!” Selina ordered, pointing to the girl; as if this was enough to bring instant obedience. She repeated her command in French, hoping they might at least understand the universal language of travelers. They did not.

Her audacity so surprised the soldiers that they came to an abrupt halt, but they did not let go of the girl. They had no idea what Selina had demanded but by her tone of command and expression they knew she was outraged. Far from becoming angry, they laughed.

Selina ignored them and addressed the frightened girl.

“
Aucun mal ne viendra à vous. Je promets. Comprenez vous
?” (No harm will come to you. I promise. Do you understand?)

“Madame, Sophie is deaf,” the girl’s grandfather replied at her shoulder. “The reason she did not hear the order to get back in line.”

“You are not French or German—” Selina stated, momentarily diverted by the old man’s cadence.

“Yorkshire in England, Madame. The Reverend Shillingford Shirley, at your service, and this is my granddaughter Sophie—

“How do you communicate?” Selina interrupted; she had no time for introductions, however arresting she might consider the Reverend’s story or his name.

“I speak to her with my fingers, Madame.”

“Then tell her to remain calm, and that I will not allow her to be harmed.”

“Thank you, Madame. She is only fourteen and—”

The Reverend was struck hard in the kidney with a musket butt and fell to his knees, eyes watering with the pain. His granddaughter thrust out a hand and tried to pull away. Selina turned and helped the reverend to his feet, growling at the soldier who remained over him with musket raised.

“Leave him be! He can do you no harm! Get up, M’sieur,” she added in a fierce whisper to the old man. “Get up—for her! Be stronger than you are!”

No sooner had Selina helped the girl’s grandfather to his feet than she was grabbed. She struggled, and with an arm free of the folds of her cloak, struck out wildly, knocking the soldier’s tall mitre cap to the ground with a clatter, which sent his comrades into appreciative whoops of laughter.

But with the hood of her cloak falling to her shoulders, the soldiers’ laughter died and Selina was instantly let go. There was a loud collective gasp from the crowd, from fear—wondering what the soldiers meant to do to her for striking out at one of their own—and in admiration of Selina’s beauty, her fair face framed by a cloud of apricot curls which flashed bright in the grey winter light like a fiery beacon suddenly ablaze against a night sky.

The corporal, who held the girl, shoved her at his subordinate and made Selina a magnificent bow, slightly mocking in its execution. He recognized in her delicate features, the luxurious fur-lining of her red cloak, and the richness of her soft velvet gown beneath, that here was a lady of wealth and possibly rank, who must be accorded respect. But something else sparked in his eyes as he raked her over from pattens to upswept red-golden hair—lust. Selina saw it and blushed in spite of herself. But she kept her chin up and did not take her dark eyes from the corporal. Secretly, she was relieved he had the intelligence and innate good manners not to touch her. Still, she did not trust him or his fellows to remain well-mannered for long, and her dark eyes followed the corporal warily as he slowly circled her, speaking in a tongue she did not understand.

“Here’s true beauty! A wondrous prize indeed!” declared the corporal in German to his comrades. “What say we have a little fun with her ladyship. Eh?”

“Yes! Fun! Let’s have some fun!” sniggered his two companions.

“Do you know,” the corporal said with exaggeration, “I suspect her ladyship of hiding contraband under her petticoats. Why else would she be so brazen as to attack us in so unladylike a manner, unless she were hiding something, eh?”

“But if she were a lady she’d have no need to hide anythin’ under her hoops,” reasoned the soldier with his arm about the girl’s waist. He jerked his head at the Customs officials. “Those Dutch dullards over there will just let her pass, as they have every other person of rank and fortune, as long as they pay the duty owed, get to tick off their wretched column work,
and
hand over what they owe us.”