My Fair Princess (30 page)

“Wait there,” she said. “I'll be right down.”

She glanced at the clock as she hurried to the armoire. It was not yet one o'clock, which meant she'd only dropped off a half hour ago. After her disconcerting chat with Lady Filby, she'd decided against a scouting expedition that night, too tired and rattled to concentrate on tracking down her prey.

But Fate—and Teddy—seemed to have other plans.

It took only a few minutes to dress in breeches and boots and retrieve her brace of pistols from under a pile of shawls. After shrugging into her coat, she returned to the window and climbed out onto the sill.

“Bloody hell, miss,” Teddy gasped.

“Hush, I know what I'm doing.” She studied the ivy creepers running down the brick facing, then mentally shrugged. They would have to do, since she didn't dare risk creeping through the house and alerting anyone—especially Charles.

Gillian made her way carefully down the side of the house, breathing a sigh of relief when the sturdy creepers supported her weight. She paused several feet from the ground, craning left to catch a glimpse of the French doors that led into the ducal library from the terrace. Unless her fiancé was sitting there in the dark, the library was deserted.

Kicking away from the wall, she dropped down the last few feet into a flowerbed, the soft soil muffling the sound of her landing. She stayed crouched down for several seconds, listening. Then she rose and turned to find Teddy staring at her with eyes as big as Mrs. Peck's cheddar biscuits.

“Coo!” he said softly in a tone of reverence. “I ain't never seen anything like that.”

“I'll teach you how to do it, if you like.”

“That'll be grand,” he whispered. “Miss, I comes to tell you—”

Gillian clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Not here.” She steered him into the shrubbery and pulled him down behind a large hydrangea bush. “Now, what's so important that you're sneaking around in the middle of the night?”

“I found 'em, miss,” he replied, excited. “Them smugglers we've been looking for.”

Her heart jammed against her ribs. “You found them? Where?”

“At the Fox and Firkin, where I was helping old Dodd tonight. Two of the rum coves came in for a spell. Stayed late, makin' plans about movin' their stuff. Baubles and fripperies, the one called it. Said they was sure to fetch a pretty price in the city.”

That squared up with what the Bow Street runner had told Charles about the goods not leaving the county. But Gillian had been correct too, since the thieves were obviously getting ready to move them out.

“Did you get any clues about the whereabouts?” she asked.

Teddy looked perplexed.

“Where they're hiding the, er, fripperies,” she clarified.

He nodded. “I followed them when they left the tavern.”

She practically toppled over. “Please tell me they didn't see you.” Gillian had promised Charles—and herself—that she'd never put Teddy in harm's way again. If anything happened to the boy, she'd never forgive herself.

“Nah, they didn't. Besides, they'd think I was too afraid to follow. After—” He clamped his lips shut, as if annoyed with himself.

Gillian moved closer, squinting to see his face. Fitful moonlight barely illuminated his features, but she could see enough. Fighting a surge of fury, she gently touched his bruised cheek. “Who did this to you?”

He pulled away, clearly embarrassed. “It ain't nothin', miss. The big one—he be their leader, I think—he cuffed me for lurkin' about their table.”

Gillian's heart all but stopped. “Did he think you were spying on him?”

“Nah. I burst into tears and said I was just doin' my job, sweepin' up. Old Dodd backed me up. He said I was true blue and would never stain.”

“And did they believe him?”

“Aye. The one that hit me even gave me a penny to make up for it,” he said. Then he scowled. “Course, old Dodd made me give it to
him
for causin' so much trouble.”

Gillian patted Teddy's shoulder. “I'll give you half a crown to make up for it. Tell me what you did next.”

“Old Dodd sent me home, but I waited outside until the smugglers left. They was on foot, which I thought was queer as all get-out, so I followed. Turns out they's got a snug little hole in the old gamekeeper's cottage right here on the duke's lands. No one stays there anymore. It's only used to store traps and such.”

“How far is it from here?”

“Less than two miles.” He huffed out a cynical laugh that was much too old for his years. “Can you believe it? They were right under His Grace's nose. You think old Scunthorpe woulda known about that.”

“He probably did,” she said, repressing the urge to curse. Scunthorpe was almost certainly in on it and had been from the beginning. No wonder he'd done everything he could to divert the duke's concerns.

“Do you want me to take you there, miss?”

Gillian glanced up at the old house, dark and settled for the night. Part of her wanted to alert Charles, but her instincts told her there wasn't a moment to lose. Besides, the duke would probably wish to question Teddy and no doubt engage in yet another argument with her before taking action. Meanwhile, the villains could be slipping away with the jewelry.

According to the boy, there were only two of the blackguards. Armed as she was, she had little doubt she could handle them, if necessary. “Yes, but you must do everything I say, Teddy. We must be sure not to get caught.”

He grinned at her. “No fear, miss. I'll be as silent as the grave.”

His choice of words sent a warning shiver dancing across her skin, but Gillian clamped down on it. She'd always trusted her instincts, and those instincts were telling her to act. If the situation looked like something she couldn't manage on her own, she'd send Teddy back to Fenfield to raise the alarm.

Casting one more glance back at the house, she turned and followed the boy, who was already disappearing like a phantom into the woods.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“There, miss.” Teddy pointed to the decrepit-looking hut in the small clearing. A fitful light beamed out from behind broken shutters. “What did I tell you?”

“Well done,” Gillian whispered. “But I have to get closer. I can't properly see anything from here.”

“Let me. I'm quick as anything, and no one will hear me.” He started to wriggle through the underbrush, but Gillian quickly clamped a hand on the scruff of his jacket and pulled him back.

“I need you to stay here and keep watch,” she hissed in his ear.

Teddy gave his head a stubborn shake. “Spyin' ain't proper business for a lady.”

“Do I look like the average lady to you?”

He eyed her. “No, miss, but it's my duty to protect you. His Grace would be right frosted if I let you get hurt.”

“His Grace would be right frosted if he had the slightest inkling of our present activities. Now, stay here, and, if you see or hear anything odd, just give me a quiet whistle.”

He clutched her sleeve. “It ain't right, miss. If you was to get hurt . . .”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I shot a bandit lord?”

His eyes popped wide. “No. Did you kill him?”

“I did. So you needn't worry that I can't protect myself. I have my pistols, and I have this.” She slipped out the blade she always carried in her boot.

“Coo, that looks sharp,” Teddy breathed.

“Very sharp. Now, I'm just going for a look. I promise I'll be right back.”

When he reluctantly let go of her arm, Gillian went flat on the ground and carefully crawled forward. She'd been hunting for years, both animal and man, and had learned long ago to move in silence. That skill had kept her from discovery on more than one occasion, and she had every confidence it would now.

She slithered her way through the underbrush to the back of the cottage. It took but a few moments to make her way to a window that was missing one shutter, with the other sagging halfway off its hinges. Hunkering down, she listened to the rumble of masculine voices inside and felt a flare of triumph when she identified Scunthorpe's.

“How much longer?” the estate manager said in an impatient tone. “That bloody man of yours should have been here ages ago.”

A low voice answered him. “Christ, man, it's the bleedin' middle of the night. No one'll be up in the big house for hours yet. You're safe.”

She was fairly certain she recognized that voice, too.

“The longer we wait, the greater the chance of discovery,” Scunthorpe whined. “His Grace is getting more and more suspicious. I don't know how much longer I can hold him off.”

“That pompous ass? You've got me shiverin' in me boots.”

“Leverton is no fool. And if you're not afraid of him, you should at least be afraid of that runner he's hired. God only knows what he'll find out.”

“That's why we're moving the loot tonight. Christ, you're worse than a nagging old tabby. You might try growin' a pair of balls.”

“Aren't you the brave one?” Scunthorpe retorted. “But I expect you wouldn't be so bold if your brother knew about this. He promised Leverton there would be no more runs across estate lands.”

“My brother's a fool. We've been usin'Fenfield Manor to make our runs for nigh on two years. No need to stop just because that bleedin' nob is hangin' about. He and his kind won't be stickin' around for much longer, I reckon.”

“They can't leave soon enough for my taste.” Scunthorpe's tone was bitter. “Why Leverton had to take it into his head to remain in residence is beyond me. I've kept the estate in prime order, but now he's camped down here looking over my shoulder. He's ruining everything.”

“Shut your gob before I shut it for you. I hear someone.”

A moment later, Gillian heard Teddy's soft, trilling whistle, as if a bird had been disturbed from its slumbers. She crouched lower. Since she was at the back of the cottage, she should escape detection.

“Is it your man?” Scunthorpe asked.

Gillian heard shuffling footsteps and then a door creaking open.

“Aye, it's Billy,” replied the other man.

Since the voices had moved away from the window toward the front of the cottage, Gillian decided to risk a look. Slowly, she came up and peeked over the windowsill to see a barely furnished room with a few broken-down chairs and some old hunting traps piled in the corner. A single lamp, placed on the roughhewn table near the door, lit the room. Three men clustered about the table, half turned away from the window. With Scunthorpe and the new arrival was the lout she'd shot the night they'd been robbed. It was his voice she'd recognized.

Gillian quietly slid below the window. The gang leader— the one who'd negotiated with Leverton—had ordered his men to avoid estate lands, and he'd clearly kept his word. Just as clearly, the man's idiot brother had defied him. That Scunthorpe would align himself with so great a fool was rather surprising. The man's disloyalty would be a heavy blow to Charles, and Gillian didn't relish the task of telling him that his lands had been at the center of a smuggling ring for quite some time, thanks to his estate manager.

Well, at least she could help Charles put a stop to it.

The voices inside the cottage had been rising for the last few minutes. Apparently all was not going as planned for the merry little band of thieves.

“What do you mean I have to go with you to fetch the carts?” Scunthorpe angrily asked. “I never get involved in the transport of goods.”

“I can't do it meself,” said the newcomer. “It ain't my fault that Sam and his mate never showed tonight. You know that, right, Jenkins?”

Jenkins.
Now she had a name to go along with the face.

“I know that I'll be beatin' the piss out of Sam next time I see him,” said Jenkins. “But we'd best be off. It'll take most the night as it is, with just three of us to haul the load.”

“No,” Scunthorpe said. “I'll stay here and—”

“You'll do exactly what I say, or I'll beat the livin' piss out of you too, you snivelin' coward,” Jenkins snarled. “Do we got that clear?”

Gillian held her breath, praying that Scunthorpe would do as he was told.

“All right,” the estate manager finally said. “But after tonight, I'm finished with you lot.”

“Suits me,” Jenkins said. “You're nothin' but a pain in me arse. Now let's be off before it gets any later.”

Gillian heard them shuffling around, then the cottage went dark. She quietly made her way to the corner of the building and peered around just in time to see three men cut across the clearing, quickly disappearing into the night-shrouded forest.

A rustle sounded behind her. She whipped around, pulling her knife from her boot, but relaxed when she saw Teddy scuttle up.

“Do you know where they be going?” he asked.

“To fetch carts to move their contraband. Any idea where they might be hiding them?”

Teddy scrunched up his face. “Sometimes smugglers store their carts 'n stuff in the tenant farmers' barns.”

“Oh, God,” she sighed. “How many Fenfield tenants are involved in this?”

“Prob'ly only one or two. They threatens them, miss. Don't give them no choice.”

Anger made her stomach go tight. “That ends tonight. Any thoughts about which farmer it's likely to be, or how close the carts might be?”

Teddy shrugged. “Could be close as a mile or as far as five.”

“Hmm. I think not the former.” Jenkins had said it would take several hours to transport the goods, which suggested the carts were not stashed close by. With a wee bit of luck, Charles could rouse his men and get to the cottage before the smugglers returned, trapping them.

“Teddy, listen carefully. I need you to run back to the manor house as fast as you can. First, you must wake Reid. Tell him to saddle the duke's horse right away and also send someone to wake the duke up. Then you tell His Grace what we've found, and tell him that I'm waiting here for him. He'll know what to do.”

Teddy's hand stole up to her arm. “Miss, you shouldn't stay here alone. It ain't right.”

“I'll be fine. I'm just going to slip in and take a quick look around, and then—”

“No!” he cried, yanking on her sleeve. “It's too dangerous. You have to promise to wait in the woods till the duke comes.”

“You needn't worry about me.”

“I ain't going, not until you promise you won't go into that bleedin' cottage alone.”

Gillian took in the stubborn tilt of his chin. She needed him on his way, and she needed it now. “All right, I promise to wait out here. Can you find your way back while avoiding the smugglers?”

“Lord, miss, I ain't a dummy.”

She couldn't help a grin. “You are anything but. Now, go as fast as you can.”

He scuttled into the forest, taking the overgrown path that led back to Fenfield. Gillian listened until the sound of his footsteps faded. Then she slipped the knife back into her boot and sat down under the window to wait.

* * *

Gillian guessed that at least forty-five minutes had passed, but there was still no sign of Charles. She felt slightly guilty that Teddy had to face Leverton's wrath, but the option of leaving the boy at the cottage had been no option at all. Even though the smugglers would probably take at least a few hours to return, Gillian was taking no chances with Teddy's life.

As for her own safety, she wasn't worried. She had excellent hearing and vision, so there was little chance that Jenkins and his merry band of poltroons would catch her unawares.

When a muscle in her leg started to cramp, Gillian danced a bit to get the blood flowing. Then she slipped around to the front of the cottage, pausing for a good listen. She heard what she expected to hear—nothing. No one was within a mile of the place, she would swear, which made her promise to Teddy even more annoying. By now, she could have already tossed the place at least twice over. It was foolish to sit about doing nothing when she could be searching for the missing jewels. Besides, it would pass the time while she waited for Charles.

Closing her eyes, she took another good listen, identifying all the sounds that drifted out from the surrounding woods. She heard the hoot of a distant owl, the scamper of a small nocturnal animal, and the whisper of a soft wind through the trees. She was convinced there was nothing out there that didn't belong.

Gillian turned and examined the cottage's heavy oak door. Unlike the rest of the exterior of the building, it seemed in fairly good shape. It was also locked. She could climb through a window, but she might as well get the door open for Leverton and his men.

Unearthing her picklocks from an inside pocket, she went to work. Fortunately, the lock was well oiled, and she had the door open only a minute later. It moved silently inward, the hinges clearly oiled, too—another indication the smugglers had been using the cottage as something more than an occasional place to stash their goods. Gillian slipped into the inky-dark room, closing the door behind her. Treading carefully, she crossed to the back window and pushed the shutter fully open to let in what little light was to be had from a half-moon behind broken clouds.

“Better,” she whispered, slowly turning to scan the room.

Left of the window, a large, misshapen object caught her eye. It was covered by an oilcloth tarp. She lifted the cover and saw at least twenty small casks stacked up against the wall. The heady scent wafting up told her they contained tobacco.

Repressing a flare of impatience, she pulled the tarp completely off and wrestled the casks in the back row away from the wall. She took another good look, but saw no small package or box stashed behind them. The casks all seemed to be well sealed, and Gillian didn't relish the task of prying off twenty lids in what would probably be a fruitless search for the jewels.

Allowing herself a muttered curse, she stood and took another slow scan of the room. Unfortunately, there was nothing that would serve as a hiding place for the jewels, or anything else that might be classified as baubles or frippery.

Had Teddy misheard the conversation in the tavern? Was this simply the last of the smuggled goods that had been stowed here after a final run? Perhaps the jewels had never been here at all, or Jenkins had already moved them. The grim reality was that they could be hidden away in any number of places or, even worse, they could already be on their way to Lincoln to be broken up and sold.

Reluctant to give up, she started moving more casks in the faint hope that she might stumble upon a secret cubbyhole in the floor. She'd just pulled another one away from the wall when she heard horses' hooves. She quickly pulled the tarp back over the casks, then slipped out the door and took a position around the side of the cottage, drawing her pistol.

A single rider was coming along the main path through the woods. Gillian cocked her pistol and waited for him to emerge. Though it was most likely the duke, there was no point in taking any chances.

The horse slowed, then stopped. She heard the jingle of a bridle, then nothing. Whoever it was had decided to exercise caution.

Gillian ghosted back underneath the eaves of the cottage, crouching down behind a sad old water barrel half on its side. Straining her ears, she finally heard a soft footfall. Whoever he was, he was bloody good at concealing his movements.

A moment later, a dark form emerged at the edge of the clearing. A tall man in a greatcoat came to a halt, his head cocked as he listened. Gillian would have recognized those broad shoulders and that confident stance anywhere.