Strange Capers (18 page)

I had to be sure, however, and the only way to get closer without being seen was by skirting behind the bushes. My progress was painfully slow. Every step had to be tried gently for snapping twigs, and during all this while I was missing out on what they were saying. At last I had inched close enough to hear, and even to see dimly through the branches.

It was a woman with him. She wore a shawl over her head and from behind I couldn’t tell who she was. Madame Bieler came to mind, but somehow it was impossible to picture her having come to such an inhospitable spot so far out of her way. When Mickey stopped talking, the woman at last spoke, and I very nearly let out a shriek to recognize Rachel’s polite accents.

“You don’t mean it! Famous, Mickey. You shall be rich, whatever about the rest of us, but did Lord Ware agree?”

“He gave me the commission before he went to London to cart home his statues. And you know I always bend over backward to ingratiate my dear old stepfather, the blackhearted blister.”

If this was Rachel’s idea of “common civility,” one trembles to think how she must entertain close friends! I was so shocked at the manner of their conversation that it took me a few seconds to tune in to its meaning. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. What profitable commission could Lord Ware have entrusted to Mickey Dougherty, and why should he be boasting of it to Rachel in a secret assignation?

“He’s not so bad. He’s made your mother happy,” she pointed out.

“No, Rachel, my pearl, he’s only made her a lady. ‘Tisn’t the same thing, now ‘tis it? I’ll whisk her back to Ireland with me one of these fine days, if she’ll come. But she’s promised to love, honor, and repeat every word the old slice says, so likely as not she’ll rest where she is. But we’re not here to discuss Lady Ware.”

“No,” Rachel said pensively. “Where could it be?”

Of more interest to myself was
what
it could be they were talking about, and I listened as hard as I could.

“It’s not likely it ever was here at all. Sure, the story is as old as the stars,” Mickey replied.

“He didn’t actually say Our Lady’s Chapel, you know,” Rachel mentioned.

“Well, what did he say, then?”

“I can’t remember it word for word. He mentioned a small stone building standing free from the house—something about the building’s being dedicated to his lady’s honor or interest, or something of the sort.”

“You’re a goose, Rachel!” Mickey charged.
“Our
Lady means the Blessed Virgin Mary;
his
lady means Lady Aiglon. He didn’t mean the chapel at all. You have to remember Englishmen were all Papists in those days, and better for it, too, if you want an honest Irishman’s opinion.”

“If I wanted an
honest
Irishman’s opinion, I wouldn’t ask
you,
Mr. Dougherty. What other small stone building standing close to the house is there? The barn is huge and made of wood. I can’t believe the ice house was dedicated to either Lady Aiglon or the Blessed Virgin. It has to mean the chapel.”

“Most country ladies get the proceeds from the henhouse. Would it be made of stone at all?”

“Yes, part of it is, but I had it built myself after I came here, so I think we can leave the henhouse out of our consideration,” she replied.

“There must have been a belvedere or gazebo or some other stone monstrosity he built for his lady. What you’ve got to do is look over the old historical documents of the place. I don’t plan to spend the rest of my nights digging up the whole demmed estate.”

“I’m sure you have much better things to do. Or more amusing, at any rate,” she sneered.

“Aye, and more profitable. I’d best go. And, Rachel, you can tell that ragamuffin lad you’ve had dogging my steps all day to shab off. I deal fair and square with all my partners.”

“Except for Lord Ware, of course,” she inserted, her tone quite toplofty.

“The one and only exception that proves the rule. I’m off to my ladylove now.”

“She’ll receive you with open arms tonight when you give her back her money,” Rachel laughed.

They waved and parted. Mickey threw his leg over his mount and rode off along the path to the main road, and Rachel scuttled out of sight in the other direction. I stood up to let the cricks ease out of my knees before going home. The pale moonlight turned the rocks white and the foliage black, and the setting was so eerie that I almost believed I had dreamed the whole bizarre meeting.

I puzzled over the details of their talk while I walked back to Thornbury. Rachel and Mickey were in league in some scheme to find what they unhelpfully called “it.” For Mickey Dougherty to take a shovel in his hands and dig for anything, “it” must be valuable, indeed. Yet its actual existence was apparently based on some ancient story, and its location was lost in the sands of time. The story must have come to light in the old book Rachel had bought in Folkestone. But in that case would she have offered me the book? Not likely! I had to remember how devious Rachel was. She might have offered it on the assumption that I would lose interest after she told me that story about golden chalices and monstrances. And she might also never have intended to let me see the book if I had said yes. She would have conveniently lost it. Well, it was somewhere in her room, and I’d find it and discover what she was up to.

Other branches of the conversation were equally interesting, of course. There was the commission Mickey was performing for Lord Ware, whom he hated. He had some trick up his sleeve there. And most intriguing of all was Rachel’s calm statement that Madame Bieler was to get her money back tonight. If Mickey dealt fairly with all his partners, as he had claimed and Rachel had not denied, then Aiglon knew that the money was to be returned. What could possibly have transpired to make Aiglon agree to that after having arranged to have the money stolen himself?

There wasn’t a soul in the house I could trust. Willard was in Rachel’s pocket with the button closed. Meg didn’t care for Rachel, but she was no friend of mine, either, and it was Rachel who paid her salary. As to Aiglon and Retchling, they were worse than the rest. Even Lord Ware, one of my main mental comforts as being approachable at the last moment, had gone off to London to arrange the shipment of his statues.

I slipped in quietly at the back door. Rachel’s cloak hung on the peg beside it. Meg looked up from her dish washing and gave me a sulky look.

“Did you tell Lady Savage I was out?” I asked her.

“What would I be telling her anything for?” was her insolent but still satisfying reply. “What’s afoot then? Is it my guinea?”

By “my guinea” she meant the bag of gold found in the cellar. Only one of those coins held any interest for her. “No, that’s safe, Meg. Finders keepers.”

“Hmph,” she snorted, but contentedly.

I smoothed my hair before going upstairs. I peeked around the corner to the library. The door was wide open, and the lights were extinguished. The gentlemen would be in the saloon then. If Rachel was with them, I meant to nip upstairs and search her room for the old book. I walked along to the saloon and saw that it was empty. Willard was putting out the lamps.

“Where is everyone?” I demanded.

“The gentlemen have gone out, Miss Pethel. Her ladyship is gone upstairs for the evening.”

“Gone out! Where? Does Lady Savage know?”

“I told her myself. She was asking for you, miss.”

“Was she, indeed?” I felt the anger gather in my chest and ran up the stairs two at a time to accost her.

I flung open her door without knocking and found her in conversation with Jake, who must have waited all this time to make his report. She gave me an eagle-eyed look and said, “Ah, Constance, there you are. I was looking for you. Jake told me about Mickey being at the old chapel. Did you get there in time to learn anything?”

“Plenty!”

“Good, you can tell me all about it presently. Jake says they’ve arranged about the boat.”

Jake couldn’t be satisfied with this poor telling of his adventures. “I followed Mick all the livelong day till my bones are weary. When he went home, I went down to Lord Ware’s kitchen to talk to Alfie, my cousin. He carries the wood and coal and slops for his lordship. That’s where I learned the whole story. His lordship has got his
Nimble Nymph
up for sale, and her rotting apart at the seams. So Mick, he got a couple of the kitchen lads at it, bailed her out, hammered wood over the holes, and
says
he sold it, but it’s hisself that’s keeping her for to take them guns to Boney! It’s still docked at Lord Ware’s place.”

I remembered Rachel’s coy question as to whether Lord Ware would like the manner in which Mickey executed that vague “commission” and realized that Rachel was in on the whole scheme up to her scrawny neck. She knew what the ship was to be used for. She knew all about that bag of money being passed back and forth. She had managed—how, I would never know—to cut herself in on the profitable and heinous crime of selling arms to the enemy of her own country.

I steeled myself to hide what I knew. “Good work, Jake,” I said. There was one ally for me, at least. Two—Jake and Jeremy. They were both loyal to the marrow of their bones. They had often spoken of joining the army, but Rachel had talked them out of it.

Rachel smiled and turned to Jake. “Now that we know what boat is chosen and where it is, it won’t be necessary for you to do any more following, Jake. You can tell Jeremy the same. Mission accomplished. And don’t either of you breathe a word of it, mind!”

“Oh, no, your ladyship. Not a syllabub will leave our lips. Where should I go now?”

“I suggest you go to bed, Jake. You must be dog-tired,” Rachel answered.

Jake tugged his lock a few times and backed out the door. Before the door was closed, Rachel turned a glinting eye on me. “And what’s your story, Constance?” she asked, attempting a smile that made her face look strangely like a death mask.

“I saw you and Mickey down at the old chapel. I was amazed to see that you had beaten me down. What had Mickey to say?” I looked at her with eager interest, as though I had done no more than look and was mystified still.

After a few seconds of swift calculating as to my veracity and what story she could palm me off with, she spoke. “I happened to spot Mickey’s horse from my bedroom window. I saw where he was going and darted down to the chapel to see what he was about. I made sure he’d be meeting Aiglon. Unfortunately, I lost my footing in the dark and he discovered me. I told him I had seen him and feared he was a housebreaker. He knows we’re nervous after your scare in the cellar.”

“Did he meet Aiglon?” I asked, as though I had swallowed this monumental fib.

“Very likely my being there kept Aiglon away. No, Mickey just made some foolish excuse about wanting to stop and pray. He says the ground there is consecrated or something, and he often stops to commune with God. That should be an interesting communication!”

“Did you know Aiglon and Retchling have gone out?” I asked, curious to see whether this alarmed her.

It didn’t. “Yes, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve only gone to the inn for some cards and company. Things are pretty dull here for those city bucks.”

I felt some show of concern was necessary from me and said, “Aren’t you afraid who they might be meeting at the old chapel. Mickey will be telling them what Jake told us. We know all about it, so we don’t have to worry, do we?”

It was impossible not to admire her quick thinking. All the Howells had this incredible ability to lie as easily and convincingly and reasonably as anyone else told the truth. She smiled a very natural-looking smile and said, “I believe I’ll just run down to the library and find something light to read. I mean to do my reading in bed.”

“I’m going to retire early myself,” I answered calmly.

I went to my room, but as soon as she was out her door, I ran back to her room to have a quick look for the Folkestone book. She had locked the door behind her. So she didn’t trust me. I wasn’t as agile a liar as the Howells. She was following Mickey’s advice and looking into old documents to try to discover what small stone building “it” was hidden in or under.

I returned to my own room and closed the door. In a few minutes, Rachel was back. I heard the stealthy twisting of the key in the lock. I sat down and just thought about all the strange, disjointed things that were happening here at Thornbury. Were they all connected in some manner? All were undertaken to gain money illegally, of course, but, other than that, was there any common thread that knitted them into one plot?

It seemed to me that Mickey Dougherty was the common element. He was Madame Bieler’s lover and partner in smuggling; he was getting the boat for Aiglon to smuggle the arms to France; he was, right this minute, meeting Madame to give back the money Aiglon had had stolen from her. Aiglon and Retchling weren’t meeting Mickey at the inn. God only knew what they were doing, and it was too late to send Jeremy or Jake after them. Would they be meeting with Madame Bieler and Mickey? I wondered. And, on top of the rest, Mickey was involved in some mysterious search with Rachel. Had Rachel used that as a handle to weasel her way into a partnership on the rest of Mickey’s misdeeds? She had beat him to the Folkestone book and had that to hold over his head.

And, lastly, what was I to do about any of it? I had no intention of meddling in the smuggling business. Here on the coast it’s accepted as practically legitimate employment. Rachel’s stealing treasures from Aiglon was nothing new, either, and didn’t bother me much. But about selling arms to the French, I could not sit on my chair and do nothing.

The proper and only course was to tell some person in authority what was going on. The constable in Folkestone, Colonel Denby, or Captain Cokewell of the militia. Any one of them would know what to do. I was a little shy about driving alone into the army encampment with hundreds of men and women. If I spoke to the constable, I would have to do it publicly in his office in Folkestone. That could give rise to questions if I were seen. No, Captain Cokewell would serve the purpose. It would not look too odd if I went for a drive on the Leas and stopped off at the church. Or I could go to watch the militia practice. I had never seen them, and they were a popular spectacle.