Endure My Heart (10 page)

“I’ll post an order off for them this very night.”

I did so before I set my head on its pillow, and Miss Halka was soon in business as a fabricator of necklaces, and making a tidy profit out of it too.

Chapter Seven

I had thought Crites would often be stopping off at the drapery shop, as he would serve as Williams’ contact in the neighborhood, but I never once saw him anywhere near it. An event occurred which led me to believe Crites had no notion of Wicklow’s true identity. It occurred on a Friday as I wended my weary way home from school in my gig. It happened that Dame Aldridge sat with me, her own horse having stretched a tendon. Crites hailed us up along the way, riding his old underbred gray mare. It was generally understood that when Crites raised his right hand to you, it was only a salutation, but when the left hand was held straight out before him, the oncoming person was to stop, as though his arm were a toll gate. Today he raised his left arm. I always experienced an unpleasant twinge of guilt and even fear when I saw Crites, though my main preoccupation these days regarding smuggling centered on Williams, the more dangerous opponent.

I drew in and smiled prettily at him, while his own teeth extended out to return the pleasantry. “A stiff breeze,” I mentioned. Stiff enough to worry me actually, but it did not seem to be rising, and it was not yet unmanageable.

“Can you spare me a minute, ladies?” he asked. We nodded our acquiescence. “It is about Mr. Williams I want to speak to you,” he went on, causing my interest to increase sharply. “Very strange the way he landed in on us, and no one having heard a word in advance from Mr. Owens that he was taking his wife to Bath.”

“It was odd, surely,” Miss Aldridge agreed. “I was in the shop myself not two days before she left, and nothing was said of it. She had not complained to anyone that I heard of, but was her usual hale and hardy self.”

“A very strange affair,” Crites said, nodding his head. “I didn’t think old Owens was in league with the gentlemen, but I’m beginning to wonder if he isn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Miss Aldridge asked. I was happy to sit back and listen quietly.

“What I’m getting at is, Owens might have called in Williams to give him a hand bringing the stuff in. There is a better mind behind the operation these days, I am convinced.” I mentally congratulated myself on this unintended compliment. “Owens is getting on in years. He might have invited his cousin to come and lend him a hand, and thought to make it look innocent by claiming he had to go off to Bath for a spell, but when he comes back, Williams will stay on. Mr. Williams has joined your choir, Miss Anderson, and I see your brother has been into the shop the past two mornings. As you’ve scraped an acquaintance with the fellow, I was wondering if he ever said ought to make you suspicious of him at all.”

Andrew was well known to live in a dream world. What Crites actually meant was that he knew Williams had visited us last Wednesday, and what was my opinion of him.

“It is odd you should ask, Officer Crites,” I exclaimed with the greatest enthusiasm. “He spoke of smuggling for full fifteen minutes.”

“Did he indeed?” Crites asked with the satisfied air of a man having his suspicions confirmed. “It seems he speaks of the matter often when he is courting the local girls.”

“I shouldn’t think he would harp on it if he is Miss Sage,” Miss Aldridge mentioned. The name Miss Sage had seeped into the consciousness of the townspeople, by what means I know not.

“That’s true,” I had to agree. “Also, when he spoke of smuggling the other night, he spoke hard against it.”

“He would, wouldn’t he?” Crites asked knowingly.

I saw his meaning at once but let him go on to explain it.

“He is pretty bent on setting himself up as a foe of the smuggling business to such worthwhile persons as yourself, Miss Anderson. When he visits with the Slacks and Turners and the more common people, he has not a word to say against it. No doubt he has heard that you have been kind enough to help me in the past, and wishes to establish to you that he is innocent.”

“The bounder!” I declared, with an admiring glance at Crites. I know I need not tell you this admiration was simulated. The little laugh that escaped my lips was sheer delight. What fun to have the old revenueman wasting his time chasing and pestering the new! A neat turn on Wicklow, who thought he did not require any help. “He didn’t fool you, Officer Crites.”

Crites blushed modestly. “Nothing is proven, but as you ladies have helped me in the past, I would welcome hearing anything you pick up around town. It is good to know the upholders of the law have some friends they can count on. Most of the people in Salford wish me at Coventry, as I well know. However, I would not want to harass an innocent man, and would appreciate your saying nothing of what we have discussed here. I shall keep an eye on him. He behaves in a strange way, I can tell you.”

I was much of a mind to have this dangerous statement expanded on. Crites was happy to oblige me. “He never stays in his apartments over the store for a minute at night. He is always out prowling.”

“He is a womanizer,” Miss Aldridge stated categorically.

“He is in that line, no denying, but he usually leaves the girls’ houses early on. He doesn’t go home.”

“Where does he go?” I asked.

“Strange places,” was the intriguing reply. “Spends many a night riding up and down the shore road, poking his nose into any barn or hole along the way. I’ve lost hours of sleep following him. I think he is looking for likely spots to conceal the brandy, but I check out each and every one of them, and have found nothing thus far. I’ll keep after him. If he is up to what I think he is up to, he’ll be caught. We’ll conquer yet, ladies.” With a gallant lift of the cap, he nodded and rode on down the road.

“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” Miss Aldridge stated, then turned at once to gossip of the schoolroom.

I began to see that if Williams was as busy as Crites indicated, he should have an eye kept on him by the smugglers as well as the revenueman. He would be the most watched gentleman ever to have set foot in Salford.

Andrew retired early that Friday evening, giving me good privacy to speak to Jem about his coming to sell Edna’s beads, as well as setting a guard on Williams at night. We agreed on Mark Hessler for the job. Jem was too busy, and if we were to keep it within our own tight little circle, it must be one or the other of them. Williams’ early night courting was no secret—the thing to be done was to wait outside the girl’s house and follow him afterward.

I should imagine Mark slept very well during the daytime with such busy nights as he had. It was incredible to me that Williams could be smiling each morning in the shop, when he spent several hours of the night skulking about the shadows, to see which men left their homes, and where they went. That was what he was trying to discover. Mark found he wasted more time chasing poachers than anything else.

It was Williams’ own fault, for if he had consulted with Crites as he should have done, he would have had at least an idea of where to begin. We had to use all our wits to confound him all the same. If nothing else, he was a hard worker. It was mainly on Friday nights that he annoyed us. Once we knew for sure what he was doing, Mark ceased to tail him on any nights but Friday. His duty on that special night of the week—Mark’s duty, I mean—was to find out who Wicklow was spying on, and if it were one of our men, to get into the house unseen and warn the man not to come to work. He was paid full wages as if he had carried his load. I wanted no trouble from my men at this critical stage.

Aiken’s place worked out very well. Williams did not consider the home of a nobleman, and one besides that was an inconvenient two miles’ walk from the village, as a spot to be watched very closely. We used it all through the autumn. Throughout that same autumn, Williams came on Wednesday evenings to the choir practice, usually walking home with Andrew and myself afterward. Our little
à suivie
flirtation continued apace.

Andrew had taken Wicklow down to show him the vault beneath the church, a detail which I learned quite by accident. The two of them were working up an organ recital for Christmas, to be given in the church as a concert, with Andrew practicing half a dozen simple tunes, the brunt of the music to be played by Williams. He was very musical—a nice lively style he had, which sounded better on the pianoforte in our saloon than on the organ, which required a more decorous pace.

He quite often slipped without noticing it into his own speech patterns, and used phrases too that spoke clearly of a good education. One Sunday after services he walked me to the door, talking of Andrew’s sermon, and chanced to say (the sermon was about “no room at the inn” as Christmas drew near), “I feel personally culpable when he speaks of charity, for I had to deny credit to the Morriseys just yesterday at the shop. But then I am only the caretaker. I have no authority. Owens’ orders were to restrict credit to one month’s wages.”

This may not sound a remarkable speech, but the wording of it, the accent, was so clearly genteel that I was surprised he had let himself slip so deeply into a respectable utterance.

What I replied was not about the high-flown speech, but something else entirely. “When do the Owenses plan to return? The visit was spoken of as for six weeks, was it not?”

“It has been extended. Mrs. Owens is not responding so quickly as they hoped.”

“You hear from them often, do you?”

“Every week.”

“When do you think they will be back?” This, of course, was a matter of deep interest to me, to know how long Williams would be around our necks.

“Not before spring, I believe,” was his answer. Had he mentioned an earlier date, I would have worried he knew something, but this long visit assured me he was as ignorant as on the day he came. “I am in no hurry for their return,” he added, with one of his flirting smiles. There was no miss to accompany the speech. I had somehow become “Mab” during those occasions when he was in our house—not by my invitation either. In the shop he continued to call me “Miss Anderson.” I never called him a thing but Mr. Williams.

“I hope they are not back before Christmas at any rate, as the whole town is on tiptoes to hear your recital.”

“It will be my first public performance. It is only the anticipation of your party afterward that steels me to go through with it at all.”

We had planned a small do after at the rectory for a few of our close friends. The inclusion of Mr. Williams in this party was felt to be not out of place, as he was the star performer of the show. “It is not to be a large party. No dancing, you know, due to Andrew’s position.”

“A very select party, nevertheless. It was kind of you to include me. You may have noticed I am making some efforts to brush up my speech and appearance, that I not disgrace you.” I had noticed he wore a jacket of a better cut the past few weeks. Not the work of Weston or anything of the sort, but he had got the wadding out of his shoulders, and looked less merchant-like. The disclaimer regarding leaving off his accent was long overdue. I believe he must have noticed my eyes widening several times, for he often gave a conscious start after he had committed some particularly elegant utterance.

“It is not necessary for you to don any airs or graces on our behalf, Mr. Williams.”

“Still, a man dislikes to appear underbred in front of a pretty lady.” The look that accompanied these words nearly knocked me speechless. It was not the cunning, greasy smile he wore when he was trying to con us. It was not flirtatious or insincere, if I am any judge of sincerity. It was sort of bashful, questioning, youthful. It held very much the look of a man thinking of falling in love. My heart heat faster at it. A totally new field of possibilities opened before me, and Mr. Williams was at pains to see that they did so. As a merchant, he knew he must be considered beneath me; he therefore began mentioning a more elevated future for himself.

“Actually I should take every opportunity to better my conversation, for I hope that soon—when Owens gets back, I mean—I may get a position in London.”

“What sort of a position?”

“I have a friend, a patron that is, from home who is active in Parliament. Lord Hadley is his name; he thinks he may find a spot for me. With hard work at improving myself, he thinks I might stand for Parliament back home.”

“I thought you left Devonshire when you were very young.”

“So I did, but I often go back to visit. My father was overseer for Lord Hadley. We have kept up contact with him. He gave me some education, and plans to do something for me in the way of a career. I hope to be better employed soon than standing behind a counter.”

“That will be nice for you,” I answered, refusing to meet his gray eyes, which regarded me closely, still questioning, hopeful.

It would be futile to deny I found Mr. Williams attractive—or Sir Stamford Wicklow, I ought to say. In his guise of Williams, he was less so. When a young, single lady regularly sees a very handsome gentleman whom she knows to be of birth and breeding, when added to that the gentleman is at pains to please her, some little attraction will inevitably spring up. Throw in an interesting limp won in some heroic battle, and you have a man that is well nigh irresistible.

The attraction, on my own side, was in no way diminished by the battle of wits going on between us, but this was the first indication I had that Wicklow felt any real affection for me. Thus far we had both been playacting, which added a dash of spice to life. I was now faced with a new dimension. He liked me; with some encouragement, I felt he could be brought to love me.

What a dilemma to find yourself in! A perfectly eligible gentleman falling in love with you, and eligible gentlemen as scarce as hens’ teeth here in Salford. How fine to be able to attach him! But it was impossible. Only to think, had I not been Miss Sage, I might be instead Lady Mabel Wicklow before many months. But an officer of the law would not be likely to offer marriage to a criminal, and a criminal besides whom it was his chief aim in life to bring to justice. Then too, how was I to keep him at a distance, keep him from falling in love with me? He was now on such a basis of amity with Andrew that he came often to the house.