Endure My Heart (20 page)

I held my breath, then relaxed to hear it was Porson he suspected. He went on talking. “I know the Eyrie is used, know where the stuff comes in. I know which of the boys is the scout and I suspect he is also Miss Sage’s contact. I have only to discover where it is he darts off to after each shipment, and I have the whole thing sewed up, with a really good position in London secured, so that we can get married.”

My heart was hammering in my chest, not with delight at his double-dealing tale of eagerness to marry me, but to hear he knew all the wheres and hows, that it remained only for him to follow Jemmie to me. Good God, I had come within a sliver of being caught. “If you catch Miss Sage, Stanley, you lose me,
forever,”
I told him, my voice shaking with fear at the full truth of this.

“No!” I was suddenly and unexpectedly locked in his arms, there in the darkness. “No, don’t say that. You know you don’t mean it. I promise you I won’t harm any innocent villagers. I have compromised half my mission, and you must compromise a little too. For
us,
darling,” he added in a whisper, just before he kissed me. It was such a beautiful kiss, long, tender in the beginning, as a first kiss should be. Just a light touching of the lips, but then some spark seemed to fly between us, it had almost a sensation of electricity, that charge that flew through my body and his. I felt a convulsive jerk as his arms tightened around me, holding me till we seemed fused into one being. When I recovered my senses—no, rationality; every sense was alive during that brief interval—I found I was clinging to him with all my strength.

“Whatever—whatever happens. Mab,” he said, his voice breathless in my ear, “you are marrying me. Now I’ll take you home.”

We walked the few steps hand in hand, with not another word spoken between us.

Chapter Fifteen

Williams did not come
into the rectory that evening. I don’t remember whether I asked him to. Nothing had been settled between us. I had not talked him out of his investigations, and I had not said I would marry him if he succeeded. What was of a good deal more interest to me was why he had done what he did.

Why did he persist in this game of loving me, when it had become so vexatious for him, for us both? I was of no help in his work—he was not coming for that reason. I began to feel that despite Lady Lucy, Wicklow was coming to entertain a real regard for me. Either that, or I am no judge of a kiss.

Things were different between us after that night. There was no more teasing, flirting or lovemaking. Neither was there any announcement of a betrothal, but there was a calm assumption on Wicklow’s part that I was his. He looked at me in a different way—more softly, proprietary—I don’t know. He just looked as though he loved me, and I knew it. I also liked it, but was very much unsettled in my mind.

I wrote to my aunt, mentioning in the most casual way possible whether Lady Lucy had yet married Sir Stamford, hoping she would write back that the engagement was off. She did not answer me for an age.

Rose Marie called and told me Wicklow had been through the cellar, without saying a single word of any importance, the sly thing. The next event that occurred was that a large sign appeared on the wall of the post office, offering a reward of one thousand pounds for the capture of Miss Sage. Words fail me to describe the sensations that went through me when I saw it. It seemed so odd, to think my offering the Hessler brothers shelter from Crites had led to this. Impossible not to project a little into the future, and wonder what my ultimate fate would be. But this was too dismal a prospect.

Like everyone else in the village, I made a special trek down to stare at the announcement. The wording of it intrigued me, a schoolteacher with her mind glued on grammar. One thousand pounds reward for information leading to the arrest of the smuggler known as Miss Sage, his band or contraband cargo. First I was a little angry at that “his” band, as though it were beyond a female to be Miss Sage. Then I read it again. What the Board of Trade meant surely was only to offer such a reward for my capture, but that was not what they had printed, in black and white. They had added
“or
contraband cargo,” italics my own. Even after paying the Frenchies, that left more than I ever made. Why not turn one load over to the Board of Trade, and pick up the thousand pounds instead of eight hundred pounds from Pettigrew in London? It delighted me, to think of outwitting the government on a technicality. By hook or by crook, I would figure a way to let Wicklow (or Crites) catch a cargo, but there would not be one of my gentlemen within a country mile of the cargo when it was taken.

I went home, locked the study door to pretend I was marking papers and sat with my chin in my hands, figuring as I had not figured since first taking the reins of my position. Wicklow already knew of the Eyrie. Very well, a load would be found there, but first we had to land it at the cave without his knowledge. He suspected the Eyrie so strongly that it would be hard to lead him off that track.

While I still sat thinking, there was a tap at the door. The higgler had come to pick up Edna’s beads, and he was shown into me as Andrew was nowhere about. I had much to discuss with him. “How are the men taking that sign the government posted?” I asked. “You don’t think they might report you, or try to discover from you who I am?”

“Devil a bit of it, miss. Two hundred pounds split between us all
once
ain’t likely to be a temptation. Besides, we’re all in it together. Our guilt would keep us in line if our honor did not. But the honor is enough. The word of a gentleman has a special sort of meaning here on the coast. Old Frank Higgot went to the gibbet without telling a single soul some few years ago. My pa used to speak of him. I’d credit any of our lads to do the same. I know I would myself, and so would you, wouldn’t you, miss?”

“I would, Jem. Word of a gentleman,” I told him unhesitatingly, and meant it. I can’t tell you how his integrity affected me. I felt proud to be associated with him, and the rest of my gentlemen.

This settled, I outlined the plan I had mulled over to claim the reward without putting any of us in danger. The money would be split evenly among the men. He was tickled pink with it. A lusty shout of laughter sent Edna dashing to the door to warn us to silence. “The problem is to get the next load landed at the Eyrie without Wicklow seeing us,” I finished up.

“He’s got his head so full of that notion, we’d have easy work landing it almost anywhere else,” he said with a meaningful little smile.

“Clever lad! If I ever retire, Jem, you shall be the next Miss Sage, and that I promise you.”

“I always figured to take the name Miss Parsley,” he said, laughing. “My ma grows it in her kitchen garden. Right pretty stuff it is. Tasty too.”

“Planning to replace me, are you?” I quizzed lightly.

“Only when you’re ready to step down, miss. You
did
say, at the beginning, you’d give us a hand for a while. Ganner said so at least, and I think you said something the same to me once.”

“If only you were a little older.”

“I’m nineteen, miss. Older than I look. It’s my being smallish that leads folks to think me younger than I am. You were about the same age, I think, when you began. But I wouldn’t want you to get the idea I’m trying to elbow you aside, for it’s not so.”

“I know. Now about this load coming in a week from Friday. There’s none this week, with the moon at the full. Dare we land it at Aiken’s place again, after pulling the old coffin stunt?”

“Hmm, happen it was a good idea we put a real carcass in the box after all,” he said, stroking his chin. “Made it look like a real plague victim and all, to lead suspicion away from us.”

“Jemmie—you never told me! You mean there was a real body in that coffin?”

“Oh, aye, but a dead one, of course. I didn’t like to speak of it to you. It’s a mite unsavory to talk of to a lady. The lads dug up a corpse lately buried in the parish field, where no one would be apt to miss it. The skull never quite goes in the burning, nor the organs. There’s always traces enough to tell. I was glad we took the trouble, when I heard it was to be dug up, for it makes it look as if it was nothing to do with us at all. So I reckon we can use Aiken’s place right enough.”

“There is that jut in the coast that hides it from the Eyrie. We’ll land it at Aiken’s, but it must be removed to the Eyrie later that same night. We’ll hide it in the stable as we did before, and when Mark gives us the signal Wicklow has given up for the night, we’ll transfer it to the Eyrie.”

“If Crites don’t get to interfering.
He
don’t suspect the Eyrie at all, and might have an eye on Aiken’s, unless…”

“Unless some helpful schoolteacher mentions the Eyrie to him,” I said, smiling. A new idea darted into my head, so fiendish it would shame Satan. Crites half suspected Williams. If I not only mentioned the Eyrie, but went on to say Williams had been seen hanging about there... Was it possible he would be induced to arrest Williams for us?

You will be thinking me a strange sort of a creature, to do this to a man I half loved, and half believed loved me. It is that miserable four-letter word “half” that accounts for it. I knew he was, or had been, engaged to Lady Lucy, and at that time he was still making up to me so there was not sufficient reason to believe him serious now. In my deepest heart of hearts, my feeling was this: that he loved both of us at once. Half loved the two of us—that wretched word “half” again! It was not enough for me. All or nothing at all. I am a fine one to talk, being in such a position I could not marry him if he were serious about his offer. He was lost to me in advance, so why not get on with the more serious business of the enterprise?

I owed him a little payment for the London visit too, when he had put off seeing us. And through all his declarations he kept insisting he wished to become a “gentleman” for my sake, when he was already a baronet. This was patent lying, and if Crites bothered him a little, it would clear the slate. Miss Sage, you will notice, was a pretty careful bookkeeper.

The next step was to arrange an accidental meeting with Officer Crites. The sign on the post office door was the likeliest spot to find him. I dashed off another note to Mrs. Harvey, expressing the hope she was not ill, as she had not replied to my last. I had to wait half an hour to get Crites alone, fifteen for him to arrive, and fifteen for the other stragglers to leave. I would be late for my dinner, and Edna would be quite convinced I had been captured. She prophesies this catastrophe regularly, doing my nerves a great deal of good.

“Officer Crites, here is a help to you in your work,” I began, indicating the sign. “I expect you have been besieged with people all day long, dropping you hints about Miss Sage. Tell me,” I said, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “who is he?”

He tried to put a clever expression on his rabbit’s face, with very indifferent success. The teeth defeated him. “Afraid I’m not allowed to discuss it,” he said, with a superior air.

“It’s Mr. Williams, isn’t it?” I urged, still in my secret voice. “Oh, you are so clever, you had it all figured out ages ago, even before Mr. Williams started using the Eyrie for his dealings. But I shan’t tell a soul.”

Poor Crites, his eyes nearly left his head while his teeth bounced out from under their concealing lip. “The Eyrie! When did you—what do you...”

“Why else would he be visiting Miss Lock, paying her calls? She is not his type, would you say, Officer Crites?”

He was not about to let on I had just told him several things he was unaware of. He swallowed a couple of times and sought to discover more, without revealing his ignorance. I was eager to give him every help. He was full of delight and schemes when he took off down the road, with a wink and a nod over his shoulder, and even a reminder that I might soon be sharing a thousand pounds.

I went on into the post office to mail my letter, just taking a casual glance at the letters on the table beyond the cage that had not yet been picked up. When the name of Mr. Williams stared up at me, I felt a strong urge to get a closer look at it. It was franked, with a name that looked very much like Hadley. “Mr. Williams asked me if I would inquire whether there are any letters for him,” I told Joe Parsons, who is the clerk. My reputation was sufficiently glossy that Joe handed it over with no more than a leering smirk.

I resisted the impulse to rip it open. I could not believe it was a business letter. The scent of violet emanating from the envelope would have told me it was from a lady, if the spidery handwriting, in purple ink, had not. As the frank proved on close inspection to be Hadley’s, the identity of the lady could be in little doubt.

Wicklow’s worried, guilty countenance when I handed the missive to him was a good corroboration of the identity of the sender. He looked as culpable as a man caught with his fingers in the cash box. “Oh, from Lady Hadley,” he said, quickly laying it aside. “I am vastly relieved to hear from her. I came away from London leaving one of my best jackets behind. She will be asking what I want done with it.”

“I haven’t heard you mention Lady Hadley before,” was all I said. I had certainly heard my aunt mention her funeral, however. I felt not a single qualm at my treatment of Mr. Williams as I strode briskly home.

Chapter Sixteen

The hours dragged by
on leaden feet over the next several days, as I waited for my load to come in. The evenings, with Wicklow smiling at me in the parlor, were as bad as the rest, for I tried to keep a civil tongue in my head to him. I inquired solicitously for the safety of his jacket, and the health of Lady Hadley, keeping my wayward tongue between my teeth when he had the effrontery to tell me not only that Lady Hadley was fine, but that she was busy trying to arrange a match for her daughter.

When the Friday night that was to see the load landed
finally
arrived, I was on nettles, wanting to join my men. From ten o’clock onward I paced the room anxiously, though there would be no news for hours yet. I was with my gentlemen in my mind, while my body was forced to remain anchored at the rectory. It was ideal smuggling weather, in the winter, at the dark of the moon. My men must be cold on such a night as this. Stanley too would be cold, lurking in the shadows at the Eyrie, and Crites, creeping up behind him. At two, I had heard nothing from Jemmie and received no visit from Lady, so I assumed the plan had succeeded, and went to bed.