Smuggler's Glory (17 page)

On the
one hand he was relieved that she had taken to avoiding him, on the
other it rankled greatly that she could so easily cast him aside
while he, on the other hand, was plagued with thoughts of her
morning, noon and night. Where was she? What was she doing? Was she
safe? Had she had another visitor? Did Madeline intend to make
Francesca her next target? If so, target for what? Had she been
sent to Thistledown to kill Francesca, or merely relieve her of the
deeds to the house and tin mine by the mysterious visitor who may
have murdered James Hillier? Simon shook his head at the complexity
of events that were unravelling around him and wondered if he would
ever be able to make any sense out of it all.

At the
moment though, until he could be certain it was linked to the spy
smugglers, he needed to be able to be able to concentrate on the
job at hand, and bring about the arrest and detention of the
document forgers. At least that is what he kept telling himself –
over and over, and over. If only his mind would listen and start to
think about something other than Francesca. He had done his best to
protect her from anything Madeline might have planned, having
agreed with Bertie that neither of them would actually leave
Francesca alone in the house with the woman she considered a
friend. It gave Bertie something worthwhile to do, and Simon the
freedom to leave when he needed to, secure in the knowledge that
Francesca had someone watching her back, even if she didn’t know
it.

Luckily,
Bertie had been to Launceston and arranged to send Simon’s message
to Hugo. He was due to go back tomorrow to collect Hugo’s reply.
Simon knew that Hugo would leave no stone unturned. If Madeline had
secrets, Hugo and his contacts would uncover them. What he would do
if she turned out to be the rotten apple in the barrel, Simon
wasn’t sure. It all depended on what she was guilty of, and he was
fairly certain that she was guilty of something, and how much of a
threat she posed to Bertie and Francesca. He was beginning to
suspect that she had been trying to get Bertie out of the way to
leave Francesca vulnerable, but why? Had Simon’s arrival in the
village thwarted her plans to keep Bertie drugged, and Francesca
ignorant of her true purpose? One thing he was certain of, Madeline
was growing increasingly uncomfortable having either Bertie or
himself in the kitchen while she was cooking. Only yesterday she
had taken to being outright aggressive in an attempt to get Simon
out of the way while she prepared dinner. When he had merely
settled back in his chair and engaged Bertie in conversation, she
had tried to physically shoo them away, only to lapse into sullen
silence when they ignored her, slamming pots and pans with such
ferocity that Francesca had come to find out what all the commotion
was about.

Watching
the guard mosey slowly past for the hundredth time that night,
Simon turned his gaze toward Thistledown. The house was essentially
dark and uninhabited. It looked so unwelcoming and desolate that
anyone looking at the place would consider it had long since been
abandoned. Nobody would know that the small group of people who
lived there were confined to only two or three habitable rooms at
the rear of the house.

He was
about to turn away when he noted a dark figure on horseback ride
down the road toward the house. Although they were making no
attempt to hide their presence, as far as Simon could tell, they
were dressed in black and were barely visible in the night. He
would have missed them if he hadn’t been watching the guard pass by
and happened to be studying the area. It was the cue Simon needed
to crawl backward, over the brow of the hill and half way down the
opposite side. Francesca had said to be mindful of the marshes, and
as long as he stayed close to the hills, he should be able to avoid
them.

He had
no intention of allowing Thistledown’s new visitor to know he was
there, but it wouldn’t hurt to take careful note of the person who
was posing such a threat to Francesca’s piece of mind. By the time
he had wound his way across the valley floor, he arrived at
Thistledown’s back door minutes after the visitor.

Hidden
in the copse, he watched as Madeline opened the door. He could hear
very little of what was said, but felt his curiosity increase when
Madeline made no attempt to allow the visitor to enter. Even from
his hiding place several feet away, they were standing almost too
close for strangers. The body language of the visitor leaning
toward Madeline was almost personal, raising the question in
Simon’s mind whether the visitor was there to meet Francesca, or
Madeline. He had his answer moments later when Madeline stood back,
allowing the visitor to cross the threshold and enter the
kitchen.

Making
his way around to the unused portion of the house, he crept into
the warmth of the inner corridor and edged closer to the connecting
door to the sitting room. Sticking to the shadows, he put his ear
to the door to listen.

“
I am afraid, Mr Lindsay, that my answer is the same as last
time.” Francesca’s voice was firm, if slightly waspish. She was
clearly annoyed at having her evening disrupted, especially by
someone who apparently refused to take no for an answer.

“
But I am sure you will find that my offer is a very lucrative
one. You won’t get better from anyone else,” Mr Lindsay
persisted.

“
I am not looking for offers on this property, Mr Lindsay. I
have told you before that it is not for sale. It isn’t really
appropriate for you to continue to visit here with your erm,
offers,” she finished weakly, starting to feel her blood begin to
boil. She had to dig deep not to rant and rave at him, which was
uncharacteristic for her.

“
I am sure you realise what risks you place upon yourself,” Mr
Lindsay began silkily.

Francesca’s brows rose condescendingly. “Can I take it that
you are trying to threaten me, Mr Lindsay?” She scoffed almost
inelegantly, and rose to her feet. She hadn’t been formally trained
in the art of etiquette, but she was fairly sure that a gentleman
should rise when a woman rose from her seat. Mr Lindsay, however,
didn’t appear to be trained in the art of etiquette either because
he merely remained seating and placed one foot insolently on his
knee in an almost casual, and arrogant manner. Rather than cowing
her, it made her increasingly angry.

Walking
almost casually to the fire she began to poke absently at the
flames before turning around, poker held aloft.

“
I am sure
you
will understand,
Mr
Lindsay, that I am not a woman who scares easily.”
Her voice was cold and hard.

“
Francesca,” Madeline warned from the doorway. She looked
slightly nonplussed by Francesca’s anger and lapsed into silence
when Francesca merely shot her a dark look.

“
Nor do I take kindly to having unannounced visitors so late in
the evening.” She slowly walked across the sitting room, poker
raised before her, and almost smiled in satisfaction as Mr Lindsay
looked at the iron rod warily before slowly easing to his feet.
“Please be careful yourself,” she warned softly in her best
matronly voice. “The moors are such a dangerous place to be for
someone such as yourself. It is so easy to get lost, you
understand? Now, I do suggest you leave.” She turned toward
Madeline, clearly dismissing the guest. “Madeline, please see our,”
she glanced dispassionately sideways at the visitor and raked him
from head to toe with her most disparaging look, -“visitor to the
door.”

With
that she swept out of the doorway and into the kitchen, yanking the
door open and standing beside it, waiting impatiently for Mr
Lindsay to catch up. Despite the fact she had just requested
Madeline to see the man out, she continued to glare at the man as
he meandered slowly through the sitting room and came to stand
beside her. Lifting her chin, she glared challengingly into his
face. When he took a breath, she broke the increasingly tense
silence, refusing to allow him to issue her another
threat.

“
Goodnight, Mr Lindsay. I suggest that if you have any further
offers, you make them to my solicitors in London. They have been
issued with instructions on what to do with them,” she snapped,
leaving the man in no doubt where he could stick his
offer.

“
You are making a very grave mistake, Miss Hillier,” Mr Lindsay
snarled. “One that I do believe you will have cause to
regret.”

“
Oh, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and what
is mine, Mr Lindsay. Do not doubt that I have every angle covered,”
she snapped. “Not that it is any of your concern. Thistledown is
never going to be yours.” With that she physically pushed him out
of the door and slammed it behind him, slamming the bolt closed for
good measure.

“
That was really rude, Francesca,” Madeline snapped, clearly
outraged and prepared to start to lecture, when she was abruptly
cut off by the slow clapping that came from the doorway behind
her.

Francesca almost wept with relief at the sight of Simon
standing in the doorway and was shaken by the effect simply seeing
him had on her. The past few minutes had been sheer bravado and now
that the imminent threat was over, her knees had begun to tremble
until she wasn’t sure how much longer they would hold her
up.

As
though sensing the amount of effort her performance had taken,
Simon swept her out of the room and away from the Bertie’s curious
gaze. Ignoring Madeline’s outraged stare, he closed the door behind
him with a thump and was unsurprised when they had barely gone a
few feet before Bertie appeared behind them.

“
Go and check,” Simon whispered, relieved when Bertie seemed to
understand immediately what was required and disappeared into a
side room. Simon wasn’t sure which room it was, but Bertie knew the
house like the back of his hand and would know immediately which
room had the best vantage point.

“
Just what is going on?” Francesca demanded, rolling her eyes
when Simon raised a silencing finger to his lips. Taking hold of
her wrist, he led them up both flights of steps to the attic room
he used as a meeting place with Bertie.

Sensing
Francesca’s curiosity, he closed the door behind them and tried to
ignore the air of intimacy that hovered around them in such close
confines.

“
Bertie is just doing something for me,” Simon remarked, aware
that she was still waiting for an answer. “I take it Mr Lindsay is
the one who has pestered you before to sell this place?”

Francesca nodded, feeling her temper rise once more. She
hated to be kept in the dark about seemingly everything that was
going on around her own house. If she was honest, she didn’t know
whether she was more shaken by the effect Mr Lindsay’s visit had on
her, or Simon’s appearance. She had to admit, though, it had been
distinctly reassuring to see him standing in the
doorway.

“
Has he offered the asking price?”

Francesca named an amount that didn’t go even halfway toward
covering the house’s true value.

“
So, an attempted thief as well as a bully,” he mused quietly.
He glanced out of the window toward the dark silhouette of the tin
mine standing darkly on the landscape. Glancing down, he spied the
flurry of cloak behind the departing Mr Lindsay and wondered if his
suspicions were correct. Unfortunately, it was too dark to see
whether Mr Lindsay followed the road through Much Hampton and out
onto the main road running directly through the moor, or whether he
retreated to the house in the village that had a daily carriage
visitor at three o’clock precisely. Somehow, he suspected the
latter.

“
What are you looking at?”

He
didn’t need to look to one side to know she was there, he could
practically feel her approach him. He wondered when she had begun
to have such a profound effect on him. As far as he could remember,
he had never been so attuned to anyone in his life. Why Francesca?
More importantly, why now? Was it because he hated to see women
being bullied and she drew out the protector within him? Or was it
because she was the most achingly beautiful woman he had met for
some considerable time?

Although
he had done nothing untoward to alert her suspicions over the past
few days, Francesca knew he was up to something and it certainly
wasn’t drawing. She had yet to see him carry any art supplies and,
as far as she knew, not many artists could draw anything in the
dark. Yet Simon seemed to feel the need to slip out at all hours of
the day and night and would often be gone for hours.

Now, it
appeared, he had gone and involved Bertie in whatever he was
doing.

“
I’m checking to make sure Mr Lindsay has left,” he replied
honestly.

“
Has he?”

“
Just,” Simon sighed, moving to sit on the box Bertie usually
used. It did little to ease the growing awareness between them but
at least it put him at a distance from her innocent
temptation.

“
What’s Bertie’s involvement in all of this?”

“
He was going to watch to see what Mr Lindsay did,” Simon
replied carefully, sensing her careful study of his face. “You
know, make sure he didn’t visit the burned out wing, or meet
Charlie or Tom in the stable yard.”

“
Do you think it was Mr Lindsay who placed the rook on the door
last week?”